Of Nightmares and PinkieSwears
by JacquiT
Summary: Takes place after the sixth-season episode Gum Drops. Still grappling with the effects of being buried alive and left to die, Nick Stokes finds a way to use his experience to help someone else.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: First, I think we all know who owns CSI, etc., and it ain't me. Second, I have to thank LostLadyKnight and CSIGirl24-7 for their beta-reading efforts. You ladies are magnificent :) Enjoy!

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Nick Stokes returned home 48 hours after being pulled out of the Plexiglas box that Walter Gordon had put him in. His parents stayed with him for a few days; once he was reasonably assured that his Pancho was going to be okay, Bill Stokes returned home, but his wife stayed. Nick's friends and co-workers, especially Warrick, came by his town home bringing food, movies, games, and stories, as well as gossip and case files, to entertain him. He was grateful for this, because he did not want to be alone. But soon enough, he took and passed the department-required psychological evaluation, and his mother went home to Texas, and he went back to work.

In relatively short order he was able to convince everyone, even Grissom and Warrick, that he was okay. And he really was – although he was easily rattled when he first went back into the field, his optimism, his positive outlook on life had not changed. Day by day his conscious thoughts of Walter Gordon's sinister voice, of the crawling and biting ants, of the cold steel of his gun pressed into his throat by his own hand, of dirt in his nostrils, and the claustrophobia that made sense only occasionally faded. Within six months his therapist told him that he should come back only if he felt he needed to. He had a good head on his shoulders, he'd made great strides, he'd worked through the worst of the trauma.

But this was only during waking hours. Nightmares had set in the first time he'd dared to close his eyes in the hospital, and not a day went by when he didn't experience one. He discussed them with the therapist, before she released him, and had tried different ways of coping with them that ranged from sleeping pills, which made him feel groggy the next day, to writing down what he remembered so she could analyze them. She reassured him that these were a normal symptom of PTSD and that he needed to explore the nightmares to get past what was causing them. In the end, however, Nick gave up. He allowed the nightmares to come, allowed the haunting images to disturb his sleep, allowed them to wake him with a start or a yell in a cold sweat. Certainly, he was tired of the horror, but he was even more tired of fighting it.

That was not to say that he had found no relief at all. He did find some things that helped – mostly femmy things he'd never admit to anyone with a Y chromosome. The _Sounds of the Rainforest_ CD had been given to him by Sara, new fabric softener on new, softer sheets by his mother. Pillows sprayed with frou-frou aromatherapy spray was Catherine's suggestion and leaving a light on was his own ingenious thought. The combination of these, his therapy, and time was having its effect, and the nightmares gradually became less intense and less frequent, although they flared occasionally, usually when he was handed a tough case.

Regardless, sleep eluded him. A good night in the beginning was two hours. It improved to four, but no more, and eventually Nick simply adjusted. It was his nature.

In Pioche, investigating the McBrides, he knew no sleep would come. Forced to split a two-bed motel room with two other men, he volunteered himself for the sofa. If he ultimately wasn't going to sleep, it would be unfair of him to take the more comfortable bed from Greg or Warrick, both of whom had been sawing logs for three hours before Nick's eyes drooped for the first time.

Muffled pounding and his own name woke him woke him little more than an hour later and even when he opened his eyes to the darkness he could see the source of it in his mind – Cassie's little fists pounding on Plexiglas. He struggled to catch his breath and sat up.

"Nicky."

He wasn't surprised to hear the deep voice of his newly-married colleague. He paused to control his tone before replying, "Yeah, Warrick."

"You okay?"

He waited a moment again. He needed control. "Yeah . . . I'm fine."

"You and me both know that's bullshit." He rose to find Nick a drink of water in the darkness. Greg was still asleep.

Nick received the water gratefully and drank it quickly. Warrick sat on the corner of his bed, facing Nick. "You're still havin' nightmares."

Nick nodded, but wouldn't meet Warrick's eyes. There wasn't any point arguing with Warrick; the man was too intuitive and observant – useful traits in a criminalist. "Yeah. This case ain't helpin' any."

"You want me to find you somethin' a little stronger?" asked Warrick, pointing to Nick's glass.

He chuckled. "Nah. It never helps. Just makes me feel like hell in the morning."

"You want the bed?"

Nick wanted to make a joke about sharing a bed with Warrick, but didn't have the heart just then. "No," he said instead. "Don't worry about me, man. It's just this case. . . . It's getting better." This was not a lie.

"You still in therapy?" Nick nodded silently in the darkness. "That's good, Nicky."

"I'm okay, Warrick. Really. You should get some sleep."

"Are you?"

"I'm gonna try, if you shut up."

Warrick chuckled and patted Nick's shoulder. "Okay." He rose to climb back into bed. "You need anything, you let me know."

"Will do." Nick laid back down on the couch, actually feeling better for the few words he'd just exchanged with his friend. Greg snored loudly.

"That boy sounds like a diesel truck," observed Warrick as he settled in. Nick laughed and closed his eyes, but no more sleep came.

When he arrived home following this case, the picture that Cassie had drawn for him was placed on his bedside table, right over a photo of all of his nieces and nephews. After showering, he went to the lab to wrap up the report while Cassie's narrative was still fresh in his mind. It took a while to get through it, and when he did he was pretty low. This was supposed to be the end of it for him, but he feared that once he got home and laid down, he'd see Cassie's slashed throat, her parents' drowned bodies, her little fists banging on Plexiglas again.

He'd found her, and she was alive, but she was scarred in more ways than one and she was an orphan. After he had said goodbye to Cassie in her hospital room, he spoke with Sheriff Brackett before catching up with his colleagues for the drive back to Las Vegas.

"What's gonna happen to Cassie now?" he had asked, hopeful.

The sheriff spoke sadly. "The wife and I'll take her in," he replied. "She's got no other family – grandparents are all gone and Jude and Nina were only children." As Nick nodded in understanding, grateful that someone she knew would care for her, Brackett shook his head. "How do you folks deal with this every day and still want to get up in the morning?"

Nick smiled sadly. "One day at a time, Sheriff," he replied, and then headed to the Tahoe.

At home, in his bedroom, he picked up Cassie's drawing again. He smiled at the lake and the house and her printing: "Thanks for finding me!"

He swallowed and blinked back tears. "One day at a time, honey," he told her quietly. "That's how it's done." He placed the drawing back on the table gently, and then laid down and closed his eyes. For the first time since being buried alive, he slept for six solid hours.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	2. Chapter 2

"Officer Stokes?"

Looking over the file in his hands, Nick was too distracted to look up. "I'm not an officer . . . ." He should have known someone he knew was trying to get his attention, because he was standing in the courthouse waiting for a trial to begin and he was wearing a suit, which unlike the vest he wore at crime scenes, did not have his name on it.

"Sorry . . . _Mr._ Stokes?"

"Yes?" There was a hint of impatience in his voice and he still had not looked up.

"Um . . . do you remember me?"

He raised up his head. From his perspective at almost six feet, he saw no one. Confused, he turned around, and then saw a little hand waving from just below his chest. He looked down and a smile broke out over his face. "Cassie McBride, of course I remember you!" he exclaimed, reaching out for a hug.

Gratefully, Cassie embraced him. She squeezed a lot tighter that he expected, but like him she was there for Luke Daniels' trial, and was probably very frightened.

When he pulled away and stood up, she asked, "Are you going to testify?"

"Yeah," he replied, wondering if she was supposed to testify too. "How'd you get here?"

"Sheriff Brackett brought me along," she replied, gesturing to him. "We're going to try to be here for the whole trial."

Nick looked up to see Sheriff Dennis Brackett standing just behind Cassie. He greeted the sheriff, solemnly shaking hands.

"Stokes," said Brackett, "how goes it?"

"I'm well. You?"

"We're plugging along," he replied cryptically, and Nick noted the somberness in his voice.

"That's good to hear. Listen, Judge Kaisershot doesn't like to start late, so maybe y'all should take your seats. I'll see you in there."

"All right," replied Brackett. "We'll see you around, Stokes."

"Bye, Mr. Stokes," whispered Cassie, waving. Nick waved back and turned, nodding to the bailiff who was just starting to order people into the courtroom for the proceeding.

When she was elected to her position at thirty-nine, Elizabeth Halles became one of the youngest district attorneys on record in Clark County, Nevada. A superior intellect had facilitated the early completion of the legal education that family tragedy had driven her to pursue. She worked as a deputy district attorney for eight years before becoming an assistant, and then, when scandal brought down one of the district court judges in the county, the DA ran for and won his seat. He then assisted Elizabeth in her campaign to be elected to the position he had vacated.

Strictly speaking, there was no reason she shouldn't have taken on the McBride murder case when it was extradited from Lincoln County. Her experience with that kind of violence was well in the past and she knew she could do the job she had been elected to do without issue. However, she was less certain of the affect the case would have on her, especially if Cassie took the stand. To be safe – and it was always best to be so with certain cases – she handed it over to the assistant DA in charge of criminal prosecution, and though she stayed hands-off, she made herself available and attended the proceedings.

She had worked with Nick Stokes many times. In fact, she was fairly sure she'd had some kind of interaction with every CSI in the department, and Stokes hadn't ever been much different from any of the others. All law enforcement officers were coached to deliver their testimony without emotion, only offering facts or explaining theories or processes with cold logic.

But the day he testified for the county against Luke Daniels, Stokes was different. While he delivered his testimony there was an edge to his voice and he wore an angry, arrogant smirk while answering some of the attorney's questions. At one point, when Stokes raised his voice and called Luke Daniels a little bastard, the presiding judge had no choice but to rebuke him.

"Mr. Stokes, control yourself."

It was all he said, all he needed to say, and even though Stokes glared back at him, he settled down considerably. Elizabeth was amused when Stokes was tempted to express himself on subsequent occasions to find him glaring back at the judge before catching himself, and speaking with more professionalism.

The day Luke Daniels' sentence was delivered, Stokes was in the courtroom again. It wasn't unusual for CSIs, detectives, or other officers to be present when a verdict was given, especially if the case was high-profile or had struck a particular chord. Most often Elizabeth saw this with cases involving children. But she was surprised to find Stokes sitting to Cassie McBride's left, with the Lincoln county sheriff on her right.

Elizabeth had never seen Luke's mother without a tear-stained face, and had simply never seen his father. Luke himself, during the trial, was silent, but when he stood to hear his sentence he began to shake, his eyes to water, his chin to quiver. The boy was petrified. His mother did not help his composure when she shrieked a repetition of Judge Kaisershot's ruling from behind her son, and then began abusing the judge for issuing it. Luke's legs failed him, he became physically ill, and his mother was removed from the courtroom.

Once she was gone, and order restored, all the judge said to the eerily quiet courtroom was, "Good luck, Mr. Daniels." He sobbed in reply, tissues pressed to his mouth. "The defendant will be remanded to the custody of the State of Nevada immediately. We're adjourned."

The sheriff, Stokes, and Cassie were lost in the ensuing sea of people and flashing cameras. Elizabeth, who was friendly with the bailiff, managed to get to him to wrangle his help in getting in contact with the little girl.

Some thirty minutes following the proceeding, the bailiff, Victor Morganstern, rapped gently on Sheriff Brackett's shoulder. He was talking to Stokes, who Morganstern recognized from his many appearances in court.

"The DA wants to see Miss McBride." It was not a request.

Brackett, caught off-guard by the bailiff's tone, became defensive. "What for?"

"She just wants to talk," replied Morganstern evenly.

Nick, knowing that the bailiff wasn't a talkative sort of creature, stepped in to help out. "I'm sure she just wants to say hello, Sheriff," he said soothingly. "Cassie, you wanna meet the district attorney?"

She looked vaguely interested. "Okay."

Nick held out his hand to Cassie and turned to Brackett. "Why don't I take her down – you give your wife a call and check up on her."

"All right," he replied. "Cassie, you gonna be OK with Mr. Stokes?"

Cassie nodded and took Nick's hand. Morganstern nodded his thanks and directed the CSI to the cafeteria on the lower level of the building before he moved to clear the courtroom.

"So how've you been, Cassie?" asked Nick as they headed down the hall, with more cheer than he felt.

"I'm okay," she replied, her voice somber. "What's a district attorney?"

Nick correctly assumed that this change of topic meant that she didn't want to chat. "The DA is in charge of the attorneys who prosecute criminal cases. Elizabeth is a very smart woman. She's probably the youngest DA in Clark County and she works very hard to put away bad guys." They headed down the stairs, around a few turns, and then walked into the cafeteria.

Nick approached the table at which Elizabeth was sitting, reading over a case file and sipping coffee. She gave a cursory glance upward at Nick. "Hello, Mr. Stokes," she said tiredly. "What can I do for you?" When Cassie peered out at her from behind Nick, she brightened. "Oh! Hello!" Taking off her glasses, she stood and stuck her hand out for Cassie to shake. "I'm Elizabeth Halles, the District Attorney. It's nice to meet you, Cassie."

Cassie shook her hand and smiled shyly. "Nice to meet you, too."

Elizabeth gestured to the other chairs at the table. "Have a seat. Thanks for coming to meet me." She offered to get the two of them something to drink, but both declined, so she closed her folder and set her glasses on top of it, then took her coffee cup in hand, sipping. "So, Cassie," she began in a more serious tone, "I wanted to talk to you because I was wondering-"

Cassie made a face and rolled her eyes. "How I'm _doing_?"

Both Nick and Elizabeth were taken aback by her sharp tone, and exchanged a surprised and worried look.

"No," said Elizabeth, looking back at the little girl. "I was wondering whether you understood the proceedings."

"Oh." Cassie looked down at the table, chastised by Elizabeth's kindness. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Elizabeth reassured her. "Did you have any questions?"

"Well. . . ." Cassie looked away a moment. "Why did Luke get so much jail time? He's not going to live for 120 years."

"Two reasons. First, he needed an appropriate sentence for each crime. He did something really bad; it stacks up. Also . . . it's partly to make sure he doesn't get out. We asked for the death penalty-"

Nick held up a hand to interrupt Elizabeth. "Hey – hang on a minute! That's a little too much information, don't you think?"

Elizabeth turned to face him, a calm and matter-of-fact expression on her face to counter Nick's look of concern and alarm. "No. Cassie's been through a lot and she deserves to have things explained to her so that she understands. It's disrespectful to talk down to victims, Stokes. You know that."

"She's _eleven_, Elizabeth."

"But I'm not stupid!" snapped Cassie, her face red. "I get it, okay? I understand he could've gotten the death penalty and since he killed my family I wish he would have!"

Nick looked back at her, surprised at her outburst. She was obviously very angry; he should have known. "I'm sorry, Cassie," he said quietly.

She put her head down, trying to hide her sudden tears. Nick exchanged another concerned look with Elizabeth and handed Cassie a napkin from the dispenser on the table. He placed a hand on her shoulder in an effort to comfort her.

She accepted the napkin and wiped her tears, her frustration evident. She looked up at Nick and thanked him, and then straightened up in her chair. Nick rubbed her back, patting affectionately.

"Should I continue?" asked Elizabeth, looking at Cassie.

"Yes, please," she said in a small voice. But before Elizabeth could do so, Cassie broke down again. "I'm sorry!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stokes . . . I'm just so tired of being treated like I'm too stupid to understand what happened to me. I was right _there_! I saw _everything_!"

Elizabeth moved one chair closer to Cassie, leaning over to embrace her. "It's all right, Cassie," she said soothingly. "I understand your frustration."

The look on Cassie's face said rather plainly that she didn't believe that statement for a second. "How could you _possibly_?"

"Because people did it to me," she replied. "When my mom and dad died, no one ever really talked to me about it. No one ever said what really happened around me. They used little words and talked in little voices they thought were soothing, and then gave me ice cream while they talked amongst themselves, saying what a pity it was and how they felt sorry for me."

Cassie examined Elizabeth's face for honesty before whispering, "What happened to your parents?"

The attorney could only answer matter-of-factly. "They were murdered."

"How old were you?"

"I was very young." Elizabeth had Cassie's attention. "Younger than you."

"Did you have any brothers or sisters?"

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "No. It was just me."

Cassie, placated by this admission, asked, "Will you keep explaining some stuff to me?"

Elizabeth sat back in her newly-acquired seat. "Sure. I was saying that we asked for the death penalty for Luke because he pulled the trigger and he held the knife. When a judge decides what someone's sentence will be, for any kind of crime, they have to do research to find out how others have been sentenced for similar crimes in the past. It's called precedence. There isn't precedence for capital punishment for someone as young as Luke in a case like this, and we knew that, but we were looking for a heavy sentence."

"Have there been other cases like this?" asked Cassie dubiously.

"Not in Lincoln County, which is probably why Judge Kaisershot ruled the way he did. The other difference between this case and the other cases we've seen is that Luke didn't really mean to do what he did. He brought the gun to intimidate Jeremy, but things got out of control."

"That's usually what happens when guns are involved," said Nick.

"Do you have a gun?" asked the little girl of him.

"Yes, I do, and so does Sheriff Brackett, but it's for protection, Cassie. For ourselves and others. Besides, we're trained to use them."

She nodded. "How come there was only a trial for Luke?"

"There was a trial for the other two boys. It was held in Lincoln County and got a lot less attention because once they were arrested, they cooperated and they pled guilty. Mr. Daniels thought he could get less jail time by telling an elaborate story about how he knew what was going on, and went to the house to lean on your dad – for your sake, for his friend Jeremy's sake. And then things got political there in Lincoln County, so the case was sent to Clark County – to me."

"I was afraid everyone thought he was telling the truth. A lot of people think he was."

"Well, the good news is that in the end, it only matters what the jury thinks, and in this case, they obviously saw through Luke's lies. They were able to because of the work that Mr. Stokes and his team did recovering evidence from your house and from the boys. And also, because of your testimony."

Cassie didn't quite know what to say. Memories of that awful night kept coming back in little flashes, and she didn't want to talk about them anymore. She didn't want to have to keep repeating the story of what happened, didn't want to tell another person that she was okay, she was fine, she just wanted to be left alone. This actually seemed to be okay with most people, since she now lived in a house where no one looked at her sideways unless she did something wrong. Her eyes watered out of sadness and fatigue, and she looked up at Nick, hoping to find a comforting smile. Faithfully, he bestowed it, even though she couldn't return it.

Elizabeth continued. "Mr. Christianson, the attorney that you worked with from my office, said that you didn't want to testify until he said that if you didn't, it would be harder to put Luke in prison. I can only imagine how hard it must have been to get up there and talk about that night in front of so many people, so I want you to know that what you did was very brave. I work with a lot of victims who won't testify because they're too afraid, and most of them are adults."

"Were you scared, Cassie?"

She leveled her eyes at Nick, who asked the question. "I was . . . but you were there. It helped a lot to see you."

"You were brave," he reiterated, pleased that he had helped her in some small way.

"But I was scared," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I wasn't brave."

"You are, Cassie," said Nick. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It means you do what's right anyway."

She was quiet a moment longer, swiping the tears off her cheeks. "Thanks, Mr. Stokes."

He winked at her. "Call me Nick."

Cassie gave in to a slight grin. "Okay."

"Do you have any more questions, Cassie?" asked Elizabeth.

"No, I don't think so," she replied.

"Well, if you think of anything, I want you to call me." She reached into her briefcase and extracted a pen and her business card. After writing on the back of it, she handed her the card. "No matter what, either here or at home. If I'm in court, I'll call you back."

Nick and Cassie said goodbye to Elizabeth, and then went back upstairs to wait for Sheriff Brackett. They found a bench to sit on, and when they had, Nick turned to Cassie. "I hope you don't hesitate to call Elizabeth," he said. "She seems like a meanie sometimes in court, but she's very compassionate."

Cassie nodded. "I liked her. She was nice."

"She told you the truth," said Nick. "I didn't realize . . . I thought maybe people would have been. . . ."

She shook her head. "It's the same every time I'm around people who know what happened. They look at me and then they turn and whisper. Even Sheriff Brackett does it with his wife."

"So did I," he said apologetically, "before we went to talk to the DA. I'm sorry, Cassie."

"It's okay. Most people just want to gossip. You wanted to know what's going on because you care."

He nodded in confirmation. "That's true – I do care – but Elizabeth was right. I know better than to talk down to victims."

"I don't want to be called a victim anymore, Nick."

He was struck by how sad she was, and recognized the exhaustion on her face. He remembered seeing that same exhaustion in the mirror and wondering whether he was sad because he was so tired or if he was so tired because he was sad.

"How are you sleepin', sweetheart?"

She looked up at him, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"You look tired," he said. "I'm just wondering if you're sleeping okay." When she looked into his eyes and had no idea what to say, he knew he had struck a chord. He continued. "If you can't sleep well . . . if you maybe have nightmares sometimes . . . you could try leaving a light on. Maybe you can ask Sheriff Brackett for a night light."

"I don't live with Sheriff Brackett," she whispered.

Nick scowled a little. "When I left the hospital, he said he was going to take you in."

"He did. Mrs. Brackett didn't really want me there, though . . . she's Luke's aunt. And then when I went back to school things didn't really go well. My old friends started to ignore me and other people teased me, and I got into fights a lot because of Mark's cousins and Peter's little sisters. And then Mrs. Brackett got sick so they called some social workers and they found me a foster home instead."

"Oh." Nick was surprised; Brackett had not mentioned this major change in Cassie's life when he was talking to him about how she was doing. "Well . . . do you like it there? Are you making new friends?"

She shook her head. "Not really. There's a lot of kids there but they come and go all the time. It's always really loud there. Miss Emily, my foster mother, she's always pretty busy. But she lets me walk to the library when the older kids go into town."

"Where is the house? Maybe I can drive up on a day off to visit you."

Cassie's face turned red again, but she caught herself before she yelled at Nick. "You don't have to say that. Lots of people said that so far, and so far only Sheriff Brackett's done it, and he's only done it because of the trial."

"I'm sorry about that, Cassie, but please don't assume I'll do the same," said Nick calmly. Then he reached into his back pocket and fished out his wallet, extracting two of his own business cards. He pulled a pen out of his other pocket. "Write down your number for me here, and take this. I don't get a lot of time off, but when I get a day I'll call and we can catch a movie or something."

She hesitantly reached out and accepted the items from Nick, writing down her number. Once the cards were exchanged and the pen in Nick's pocket again, Cassie lifted her big blue eyes up to his. "Nick," she said quietly, "if I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?"

Nick nodded solemnly. "I'll always be honest with you."

"Pinkie-swear?" She held out her right pinkie.

He smiled, touched. He had never been asked to pinkie-swear to anything and in fact, in moments of pre-adolescent silliness, his five older sisters would actually refuse to make a pinkie-swear with him for the sheer joy of annoying their little brother. Solemnly, he linked his pinkie with hers. "Yes, I pinkie-swear, Cassie."

She pulled, and smiled a little; this time, it reached her eyes. "Okay. Here's my question. In jail, where Mark and Peter are, do you have to get tattooed?"

Nick wanted to laugh, but didn't. "No," he replied. "That's just a stereotype. And Mark and Peter, and soon enough, Luke, are not in jail. They're in prison."

"Do you get beat up in prison?" These words came out in a rush, and Nick suspected that this was her real question.

"Prison's not a nice place to be," he replied. "It happens, sometimes." This was the truth she was looking for; had Nick been talking to anyone over five foot six, he would have added his own opinion that Luke wouldn't make it a week before he sported a shiner. But these were not thoughts for the head of a pretty eleven-year-old who had best be getting on with her life, so he made an attempt to lighten the mood. "Now, if I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?"

She held out her pinkie. "I'll always be honest with you, Nick," she said as their fingers curled around each other. "Promise."

He pulled. "All right. Here's my question. D'you think this tie makes me look fat?"

Cassie laughed at him as he played with his neckwear, and he managed to make the smile stick for a few minutes longer until Sheriff Brackett came to retrieve her, and bring her back to her foster home.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Thanks for the lovely reviews - as long as you're nice, all kinds are welcome. Enjoy!

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Miss Audra Stokes, as her little brother still liked to call her, was Nick's favorite sister. She was two years older than he was and two years younger than their big brother Billy, but she was, without a doubt, the resident sibling-in-charge. Audra was most like Nick, analytical with a good head on her shoulders and the same sense of fairness that they both inherited from their parents. She had often said that of any of the seven Stokes children, she and Nick should have been born twins – the main differences between them were gender and hair color (Audra was a redhead), and the fact that where Nick was drawn to science, Audra was drawn to numbers. They were so close that they still called each other by their childhood nicknames. When he was learning to talk, Nick had called his sister Dadra, and still did after forty years. Audra called her little brother an array of names, but most often her answer to Dadra was Ninny (what she called him at two), or Sicky Nicky (because he had been ill as child).

Audra, a CPA and mother of five, was the head of her own successful accounting firm in Houston. Her husband Sam was an artist and a stay-at-home dad of the finest caliber, but with five children Audra and Sam didn't get as much time to spend together as they would have liked. To help compensate for this, Audra blocked time on her calendar to chat with Sam from nine o'clock to nine-thirty every morning. Sometimes they talked on the phone; sometimes, it was online. It all depended on where he was and what kind of mood they were in.

Audra was the only one of the Stokes children that their mother called before she boarded a plan to Las Vegas after receiving a phone call from Nick's supervisor, and the only one she trusted to tell the remainder of her children that Nick was okay before telling them the story about their brother being buried alive. Following the ordeal, Nick wanted to see only Audra because only Audra wouldn't placate him, wouldn't patronize him, wouldn't smile sweetly and tell him it would all be okay. Only Audra knew of his nightmares.

When she returned home to Houston she blocked an additional half-hour on her calendar to make sure she talked to Nick every day. Now it had been almost a year and a half, and the time was no longer blocked on her calendar, but Nick knew he could still get a hold of Audra if he needed or wanted to. Most of the time they chatted online, since Audra's just-got-out-of-bed chipper voice annoyed her brother, who at nine-thirty, was ready to fall over, even if he wouldn't sleep.

About a week after Luke Daniels' trial wrapped up, Nick went home to his townhouse, made himself some breakfast, and sat down at his computer to chat with Audra (who, when this tradition of theirs began, was kind enough to set him up with a chat program and screen name).

ninny415: miss audra

audra.stokes: Good morning, Sunshine!

ninny415: knock off the happy crap

audra.stokes: Ooh, extra crabby this morning.

ninny415: something's buggin me

audra.stokes: Well, I'm here for you, Ninny. What is it?

ninny415: i don't know

audra.stokes: Should you be talking to our lovely sister Lauren, the super-shrink?

ninny415: no more shrinks please  
ninny415: i want to talk to you

audra.stokes: OK. Just say what's on your mind.

ninny415: ive been working my ass off. on purpose.

audra.stokes: Particular case?

ninny415: no not really. just to be at work. i hate coming home.

audra.stokes: I think I know where this is going.

ninny415: dont say i need a girlfriend. i dont want someone i have to dress up for and impress.  
ninny415: despite what billy thinks i do that every time i go to court

audra.stokes: Bitter much, Nick?

ninny415: you and i both know he's the reason i don't live in dallas anymore

audra.stokes: So he's got his stupid public defender job and you're happy in Vegas. What do you care anymore?

ninny415: because i'm bitter. he's still dad's favorite.  
ninny415: with his stupid baseball championship and attorney job.

audra.stokes: But Billy's jealous of you because you're Pancho the Crimefighter and he's just Billy.

ninny415: hello? WILLIAM THE FOURTH!!

audra.stokes: -- Sighing.

audra.stokes: I see that I'm not going to make any headway on the Billy vs. Nicky battlefront this morning. Let's get back on-topic. You were saying . . . no girlfriend. Are you sure about that?

ninny415: audra if i wanna get laid, i live in vegas for cryin out loud

audra.stokes: -- Sighing. Again. I'm talking about companionship, Nicholas.

ninny415: let me level with you. im thinkin about calling someone i maybe shouldn't.

audra.stokes: I'd guess either a shrink or a hooker, but we already discussed those options.

ninny415: a victim.

audra.stokes: Oh.  
audra.stokes: I didn't see that coming.  
audra.stokes: Oooh, Nicky . . . explain, before I tell you what you already know.

ninny415: one of my cases i helped find a missing kid whose mom and dad were murdered. i guess ive taken a shine to her since then.

audra.stokes: Why are you thinking about calling her? How old is she?

ninny415: 11. i think she needs me.

audra.stokes: Oh, Ninny. What would Lauren say right now?

ninny415: i'm serious audra. she's havin a hard time adjusting to her foster home and she needs someone.

audra.stokes: Why's that person gotta be you?

ninny415: who else is it gonna be?

audra.stokes: What do you think you can do for her?

ninny415: i can be to her what you are to me.

audra.stokes: I am your Queen. You cannot be a queen; you keep shaving your head.

ninny415: ha ha ha  
ninny415: seriously please.

audra.stokes: Seriously, Nick, it's sweet that you want to help her.

ninny415: but?

audra.stokes: But would it be worth your job, if it comes down to it? What kind of risk are you taking?

ninny415: look audra, i know i help people in my job, but just once maybe it would be nice to help the living. i really identify with this kid. she could use someone who understands what its like to go through trauma.

audra.stokes: You could use a reminder that life's not as bad as your job makes it look. But again Nicky – is it worth your job?

ninny415: I can always get another job.

audra.stokes: ?#&!&!  
audra.stokes: Excuse me. I fell off my chair.  
audra.stokes: Nick, you've NEVER said that, or anything like it. Not EVER. You don't even JOKE about that. I thought you loved your job.

ninny415: i do, but maybe this is bigger than my job.

audra.stokes: Have you talked to the bearded guy about it?

ninny415: grissom shaved his beard  
ninny415: and no i havent  
ninny415: and im not going to either

audra.stokes: Why?

ninny415: because hell tell me not to do it.

audra.stokes: Oh, grow up, Nicholas!

ninny415: hey, its none of his business!

audra.stokes: -- Sighing.  
audra.stokes: Again.  
audra.stokes: So clearly, you've already made up your mind.

ninny415: i guess so

audra.stokes: Give me some kind of comfort here Nick. Tell me you're not being a complete melonhead about this.

ninny415: strictly speaking, since the case is closed and the trial is over, there shouldn't be any concerns.

audra.stokes: So if that's the case, why are we talking about this?

ninny415: i wanted to bounce it off someone.

audra.stokes: Well, you bounced. Feel better?

ninny415: not really  
ninny415: once I get to talk to cassie ill probably feel better though.

audra.stokes: Well, sir – get some sleep, and give her a call.

ninny415: will do. how are the kids?

audra.stokes: The girls – sassy and beautiful, like their mama. The boys – respectful and handsome, like their daddy. Sam's exhibiting in Dallas in a few weeks.

ninny415: great news. send me pics, ok?

audra.stokes: Will do – ttyl Nicky :)

Nick slept peacefully for about three hours that morning, but woke in early afternoon in a cold sweat. It was becoming more and more common to not remember the nightmares. It had taken him a while to get used to this, but once he did he considered it an improvement. No memories of a night terror meant he wasn't plagued by them during waking hours.

Once he woke, he never got any more rest, so he rose and showered and made himself something to eat. Eventually he found himself sitting on his couch, his cell phone in one hand and his business card in the other, turned over to reveal the ten digits Cassie had written on the back.

Slowly, he dialed them. A young voice answered. "Hello?"

Suddenly nervous, realizing he had no idea what he'd say to her, he stood. "Hi . . . can I talk to Cassie?"

"Who's calling?"

"My name's Nick."

He heard rustling and muffled hollering in the background, and then, "Hello?"

"Hi – I was calling for Cassie."

"I'm Cassie. Is this Nick?"

"Yeah, it's Nick. How are you?"

"I'm okay," she replied, her voice raspy. "I got a cold."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart." Nick sat back down on the couch. "Do you want me to let you get some rest? I can call back."

"No," she said quickly. "I'm supposed to be doing my science homework and I don't want to."

"What kind of science homework?"

"_Dumb_ science homework," she replied like the eleven year old she was. It made him smile.

"You know, Cassie, you're talkin' to a scientist. Maybe I could help you."

"You're a detective – that's not the same thing."

"No, I'm not. I'm a scientist. What I do is called forensic science."

There was a pause while Cassie tried to control a coughing fit. "What kind of stuff is that?"

"Forensics is the use of science and technology to investigate a crime and determine what happened, and sometimes, what didn't happen."

"What kind of science?" She sounded tired and doubtful.

"Well, for example, we can find fingerprints. That's the most common thing we do." He tried to think of something slightly less gruesome than the next thing that came to mind, which was blood spatter analysis, but was having a tough time coming up with anything. "Oh – and we do something called chromatography, which is how you can identify different inks."

"The fingerprints sound okay, but chroma-whatever . . . sounds boring." She coughed.

He supposed it would sound boring, particularly to an eleven year old who wasn't feeling well. "What's your assignment?" he asked.

"I hafta read some stuff about tectonic plates or something and then do a map."

Nick had to pause in his reply so she could settle another coughing fit. Instead of saying what had been at the tip of his tongue, he sighed and said gently, "You know what, honey, I think you need to get some rest. You don't sound so good." Visions of his mother wrapping him in blankets and handing him mugs of chicken broth flashed through his mind and he swore he could smell the eucalyptus she used to put in his bath. He rubbed the spot on his chest where she'd rub Vicks and then pull one of his dad's old undershirts over his head.

"I should finish this."

He smiled. "You're a good kid, Cassie. Finish it up, but then head to bed. Maybe you can get that Miss Emily to give you some warm milk or something."

"I'll probably just go to bed," she said. "I hate bein' sick."

"I know the feeling well," he replied affectionately. "If I can, I'll call you tomorrow to check up on you, okay?"

"Okay. Hey, Nicky?"

His eyes crinkled. "Yeah, Cass."

"Thanks for calling."

"Sure thing, princess. Bye."

"Bye."

Nick did call her back the next day, but the teenaged boy who answered the phone had said she was sleeping. He left a message that he had called, and then went on with his day.

* * *

The following Wednesday he was in the middle of yet another double shift, helping Greg process a car that had been left in the baking Nevada heat with a body in the backseat, when his cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and looked at the number. He didn't immediately recognize it, but knew it was familiar, so he answered.

"Stokes."

"Um . . . Nick?"

"Yeah," he replied disinterestedly. "This is Nick Stokes." He shot Greg a look, rolling his eyes.

"Hi, Nick. It's Cassie."

He smiled and got out of the car. "Hey, princess," he said. "Feelin' better?"

"Yeah, a little," she replied. Her voice wasn't as raspy but she sounded a little far away. "I'm sorry I was sick the other day when you called."

"You don't have to apologize for bein' sick, sweetie. I called you back – did you get my message?"

"Yeah, Robbie told me someone called for me . . . he didn't say who, but I figured it was you."

"Hey, Nick – quit flirtin' with your girlfriend and help me out here," whined Greg, who was on the last leg of what amounted to a 24-hour shift, having waited almost all day to testify in a trial only to be put off until the next day, and then being called in by Grissom.

Despite this, Nick shot him a filthy look. "Hang on a second, Cassie – it's kind of loud in here." He put the phone to his shoulder. "I'm doin' you a favor, Sanders – lay off." He removed his gloves and put them in an evidence bag, and then moved to the hallway. "That's better. Hey, how did the tectonic plates go?"

"Fine. Once I got to read the chapter it wasn't so bad, and the map was easy. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm at work. I was in the garage."

"The garage where they keep the police cars?"

"No, it's a different kind of garage. It's where we take cars or other vehicles if we have to look for evidence in them."

"Like fingerprints?"

"Yeah, that's what I was doing."

"I told my science teacher that I learned what forensic science was. She told me I could do forensic science for my science project."

"That'd be neat," replied Nick with a smile, wandering around slowly. "If you want some ideas, you should ask me. When do you do your project?"

"It's due next month – we got the assignment today."

"You don't sound too excited about it. Don't you like science, Cassie?"

She was quiet for a moment while a smile crept over his face. "I like science okay," she replied, her voice small. "But I like other things better. Like reading."

"Are you going to be in a play this year?" he asked.

"No," she said sadly. "Miss Emily doesn't let us do after-school stuff because she can't always leave and go to pick people up everywhere."

"How many kids does Miss Emily have?" he asked.

"Six that live here all the time. Other kids come and go. There's a helper that comes sometimes, like if we have doctor's appointments that Miss Emily has to take us to."

"Oh . . . I'm sorry. Listen, let me think about some ideas for your science project. This weekend I'll come visit. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," she replied, and he was pleased that he could hear the smile he imagined crept across her face.

After saying his adieus and replacing his phone on his belt, he headed back to the garage to find Greg struggling to open the hood of the car. With a grin he strode over to Greg, putting on new gloves, and reached under Greg's arm to release the latch. The hood popped, and he raised it easily over their heads. Greg shot daggers at Nick through his eyes.

Nick simply smiled back. "Go home, Greggo," he said quietly. "I got this."

Too tired to argue, Greg dropped his glare and thanked Nick before stumbling out of the garage, headed for the locker room.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Again, thanks for your feedback :) And I hope you continue to enjoy!

Saturday dawned hot and bright, and as Nick drove out to Blue Diamond he went through the list of items contained in the shopping bag on the passenger seat. He had talcum powder, cocoa powder, tape, an ink pad, coffee filters, four different pens, heavy black and white paper, a magnifying glass, Popsicle sticks, plastic cups, a mirror, and a cosmetic brush. The rest of what he needed, he figured Emily would have.

Emily had given him directions to the house over the phone, and he followed them through the suburban town to find a big whitewashed house in the middle of what at one time might have been some kind of a livestock farm. He parked behind another car and ambled out of the truck, taking the bag from the seat. When he knocked on the door, Cassie almost immediately answered.

"Hi, Nick!" she exclaimed, holding the screen door open. "Come in."

He smilingly obliged her and followed her inside. "How are you, Cassie?"

"I'm fine. Where should we go?"

"We'll need a big table."

"We should be able to work in the dining room." She turned and led him through the living room and down a short hallway to the kitchen.

Standing at the sink was a short woman with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Hello," said Nick in greeting, assuming that the woman was Miss Emily.

She started at his deep voice but when she turned around, her expression unreadable. "Hi." She did not smile, nor did she offer her hand in greeting.

"Emily, right? I'm Nick Stokes – Cassie's friend," he explained. "We talked on the phone yesterday."

"Cassie's friend Nick," she repeated. "I'm sorry, I thought that Cassie's friend Nick was Cassie's _age_."

"I talked to you on the phone last night," repeated Nick, confused.

"I assumed I was talking to Nick's dad."

Nick hoisted an eyebrow and shook his head a little. "I'm sorry for the confusion," he offered.

Emily turned to Cassie. "Would you give _Nick_ and me some privacy, please?"

Nick didn't like the tone of Emily's voice but turned to Cassie. "Here – take this stuff to the dining room, and I'll be right there." He smiled reassuringly at her, because the excitement she had obviously felt at his visit had fizzled and she wore the worried, tired expression he had seen at the courthouse. Wordlessly, she took the bag from him and left the kitchen.

"Something wrong?"

"Yes, there's something wrong. When I told Cassie you could come over I assumed you were an eleven year old boy. What are you after?"

"Wow – you don't mince words, do you?" he replied, stunned. "I'm just trying to help a kid with science."

"Why?"

"She needs a friend right now," he replied, annoyed.

"How do you know Cassie?" Emily demanded.

Nick didn't like the bent of her questions. "What do you know about what happened to her family?"

"Everything."

"I pulled her half-dead body off the shore of a lake," he replied forcefully, trying hard not to raise his voice.

"Oohh, I see," replied Emily, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "you're her _hero_."

"I didn't say that. Listen, I'm a crime scene investigator; I work for the LVPD. If you want to check me out, go for it, but you won't find anything. Now do you mind?" He pointed in the general direction of the dining room.

"You got an hour with her," replied Emily. "I don't want you talkin' to any of the other kids."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick knew there was a logical reason that she was so distrustful, but the front of his mind was too preoccupied with being outraged at being treated like a dissident to care. "I don't want to fight with you, so I'll quietly go to the dining room, but I'll be back. Miss Emily." He turned and left the kitchen.

The dining room, like the rest of the house, was clean and tidy, if not a little run-down. All of his materials had been laid out on one end of the big table, and Cassie was anxiously waiting for him. Traces of his scowl remained on his face when her eyes alighted on him.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell her you weren't a kid," she said right away. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"It's not," he told her. "It's all right, Cassie. I think Miss Emily was just a little surprised, that's all."

"She doesn't like surprises." Cassie sounded as if she spoke from experience.

"I bet she doesn't. Hey – let's get to work. I think you'll like this, even if it is science."

"It doesn't look like science," she replied, grateful for the change in topic. "Looks like we're making an art project."

He smiled and shook his head. "No art here – it wasn't my best subject," he admitted. "Now, what I need from you is a scissors, and I need these four plastic cups filled about a third full of water."

"Okay," she replied, and as she went to the kitchen he began preparing the other items. When she returned he instructed her to use the scissors to cut four strips from the coffee filters, and when she was finished, he handed her the first of the four black pens.

"The first thing I'm going to teach you about is chromatography," he said as she accepted the pen. "I know you said that sounded boring, but this'll be neat; you'll see."

"Okay. Hang on; I gotta take notes." She moved her notebook and pencil toward her from down the table, and asked how to spell forensic as she wrote "Forensic Science Lesson" across the top. Then she wrote the date, and Nick's name. She paused a moment, and then looked up at Nick. "Do the police call you a scientist?"

He shook his head with a bit of a private smile. "The police call us a lot of things; _scientist_ isn't one of them."

"So what do they call you?"

"I'm a crime scene investigator – CSI for short."

"What else do they call you?" she asked when she had finished writing this down.

"They call us the Nerd Squad," he replied. "Because we like science and we're smart – smart people get picked on."

"I'm not smart, and I get picked on," she replied, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

"First of all, you _are_ smart, and second, who picks on you?"

"Everyone," she said, putting her pencil down. "It's different at school when you don't have any real parents. And everyone here calls me Casserole because of stupid Robbie. He thinks it's funny to make fun of people's names."

"You know, I had nicknames when I was growing up," he said in an effort to soothe her wounded pride. "My sisters still call me some of them."

"What did they call you?" she asked, looking into his eyes as he sat down on the chair next to her.

"Ninny," he replied, and she giggled a little. "And sometimes Baby Ninny, because I'm the youngest in my family. And also, because I was always sick when I was a kid, they'd call me Sicky Nicky."

His admission making her feel a little better, she smiled at him. "I wouldn't have called you any of those names," she replied. "They're so silly!"

"What would you have called me?"

She thought a moment. "I would've called you . . . Nickelbee."

"Nickelbee?"

"Yep."

"And that's not silly?" he asked, smiling.

"It's as silly as Casserole," she declared.

He laughed again and suppressed the urge to reach over and hug her. "You're a funny girl, Casserole. Let's get back to work."

"Okay. Let's see . . . ." She consulted her notebook again. "How would this be used?"

"Do you know what fraud is?"

"No."

"Fraud is when someone says they're someone they're not, or makes something look like something it's not. For example, if I were to come here and say that I'm Nick Jonas . . . ?"

"A bunch of dumb girls would squeal," she deadpanned.

"Not a fan, Cass?"

"Not so much."

"I see," he replied with a grin. "My point remains the same, though. I'm not Nick Jonas, but if I come here and say I am, that's fraud. Or if I paint a picture and say it was painted by Michelangelo, or if I got a check for ten dollars and took a pen and wrote an extra zero on it to make it look like a hundred dollars – that's all fraud."

"Okay. Got it. People who do fraud are big fat liars."

"Exactly. So that last example, with the check – that's where we can use chromatography."

"And how does chrome-a-tog-ra-fee work?"

"It's how you can identify different inks. See, ink isn't just blue, or black, or red. Each different pen uses different pigments to make up the color of the pen. What we're going to do is separate those different pigments. We can tell which pen is used by which pigments are contained in the ink." He instructed her to place a dot on each of the four strips of filter paper near the end of the strip, using a different black pen each time. Then he placed a Popsicle stick across the top of each of the plastic cups, draping one strip of filter paper over the Popsicle stick.

"When you're doing this for your experiment, make sure that the tips of the strip of filter paper touch the water but the dots are well above it. What's going to happen is that the water will soak up into the paper, and the ink will separate into the different colors that are used to make up the black ink. This way, you'll know what the ink looks like from each pen, so when you run the same test on the evidence – a check, or a note, or whatever you choose – you'll have something to match it to."

"That's kind of cool," she replied with a smile, writing in her notebook.

"Only one drawback to this method," he said. "Can you guess what it is?"

She looked at the strips of filter paper, her brow knitted together. "Well . . . if these were real checks or letters or something, they'd be ruined."

He smiled. "Exactly. The evidence is destroyed in the process. That's why if we have to do this, we do, but nowadays there are machines to do this kind of analysis."

"Too bad I can't use one for my science project," she replied. "Then it would really be cool."

"This way's more hands-on, though. With a machine you don't get to use your head as much. Plus, you don't get to see this." He pointed to where the coffee filter strips sat draped over the Popsicle sticks. The water had pulled the ink from the black dots upwards into the filter paper, leaving streaks and smears of different colors in its wake.

"Cool," she repeated, her eyes lighting. Just as Nick had said it would be, there was a rainbow of colors represented there: one dot had a lot of green, another of blue, and yellow was prominent in the third. The fourth, however, had no smear of color at all. "This one's not working, though."

Nick touched it to make sure the filter was wet, and then reassured her. "Some inks don't dissolve in water," he told her. "If this happens, it's okay. At the very least, it's telling you that the ink isn't water-soluble, and sometimes, that's enough. If you happen to get two pens that aren't water-soluble, all you have to do is repeat this test using rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover instead of water."

Cassie wrote furiously in her notebook. He had to admire her for that – she may not have liked science much, but she was a diligent student. "Okay. Got it. What's next?" she asked, looking up at him.

Nick wiggled the fingers of his left hand at her. "Fingerprints. Now, this is important, because it's the single most effective tool we have in tracking down suspects." He went on to explain to her the two different types of fingerprints and talked about ridge detail while she continued to scribble with her pencil. "Did you get all that?"

"Yep," she said.

"Good. Now for the fun part." And as he explained the process, talking about how it was done at the lab, he rolled her fingertips in the ink pad and then on the heavy white paper he had brought with him. While she ran to the kitchen to wash her hands, he took the mirror and placed his own pinkie print on it in several different places. When Cassie returned, he took her hand and placed her index finger on the mirror, without her seeing where.

"Now we'll dust and lift the prints, and I'll show you how to analyze them to pick out the differences. When we're done, you'll be able to tell me which print on this mirror is yours."

She smiled, and they got to work, using the talc for some prints and the cocoa powder for the rest. He showed her how to use the tape to lift the prints, and then pressed the ones dusted with talc onto the black paper, the ones with cocoa onto white. The Nick made a print of his own pinkie on white paper to use for comparison.

A few moments later she was examining the various prints with the magnifying glass. As he watched her, occasionally giving her tips, he noted that Emily walked by the room several times.

"Somethin' you need, Miss Emily?" he called.

"Your time's up, Stokes." Her hands were on her hips.

"Oh – I think I got it," said Cassie from Nick's side. "It's this one!" She held up a cocoa-powdered print.

Nick compared the two prints – hers and the lifted one – and even though he was far from a fingerprint expert, he knew the basics well enough to say, "Nice job, Cass," with a pleased laugh.

"Great – now you can go home," said Emily, walking into the room. "Cassie, I'm glad your friend Nick came to teach you these things, but it's time for him to go."

"Can't he stay for lunch?" she wined.

"No, and you know why. Now help him clean up." With that, she left the room.

Nick let out an involuntary sigh, shaking his head. "Don't worry about Miss Emily," said Cassie in a low voice. "She doesn't trust anyone. Not even our teachers. She takes us to the dentist one by one so she can sit in the room while they clean our teeth."

He smiled at her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Casserole."

"No problem, Nickelbee."

They chatted about what crime she could solve for her project while they finished cleaning up their mess. "Are you gonna need any of this stuff?" Nick asked. "I could leave it here, and if Miss Emily doesn't want any of it when you're finished you can give it back to me."

"Okay." She helped him load the items back into the bag, and they headed back through the house and out the front door to Nick's truck.

"Well, keep me updated on how it goes, and if you have any questions – anything at all – just give me a call, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks for teaching me all this stuff."

"It was my pleasure, Cassie Jane." He winked at her.

A smile crept over her face. "Hey, how'd you know my middle name?"

He sobered a moment, clearing his throat. "Paperwork," was all he said, wishing he hadn't used her middle name, wishing he hadn't brought up a reference to that awful night when she was trying so hard to move on.

"Oh." She thought a moment, then said, "Well . . . what's your middle name?"

He smiled. "It's Parker."

"Parker?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's kind of a crazy middle name."

He shrugged. "My mom liked it. What are you gonna do? Can't pick your own name, I guess."

She shrugged, too. "I guess," she replied, her tone light.

The screen door on the house slammed then, and Nick looked up to see a dark-haired girl about Cassie's age standing on the steps with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips. "Cassie! It's your turn to help make lunch!"

"I'll be right there!" Cassie called back. She turned to Nick again. "That's Susan, my roommate. She's just as crabby as Miss Emily."

Nick couldn't think of what to say besides, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's all right. I had fun today. You better go, though."

"Okay." He reached out for a hug and said good-bye, and then climbed back into his truck to head home. He started it up and backed out of the driveway, then headed down the dusty road. He waved one last time as he passed the house, but Cassie waved until the truck was out of sight.

* * *

Nick made another trip to Blue Diamond about two weeks following his first. Emily wouldn't allow Cassie to leave, but she let him stay. They played cards for a while in the dining room. After a while, she asked him if he wanted to go outside to play. Emily had a basketball hoop in her big dusty driveway, and Susan was outside with an older girl and a boy who Nick had learned was the nickname-bestowing Robbie.

When they arrived in the driveway, Susan, who had the basketball, stopped mid-shot and stared at Nick.

Cassie didn't notice. Brightly, she asked, "Can we play, too?"

The other girl, Marie, looked to Susan and then to Nick. "We're in the middle of a game right now," she said to Cassie, her tone quiet and apologetic. "Maybe you guys can play the next one."

Cassie voiced her disappointment and tried to cajole Marie into letting them join the game, but Nick, who was incredibly uncomfortable with Susan's staring, said, "No . . . no, it's all right, Cassie. Let's go do something else; we can play the next game." He turned and walked swiftly to the garage, just so Susan would stop staring at him.

"What else do you wanna do?" asked Cassie, who'd had to run to catch up with him.

Agitated, he floundered a little. "I don't know . . . what about . . . ball? Do you have a baseball and a couple of gloves? We could play catch in the back yard."

She brightened again. "Okay!"

Moments later they were in the back yard. Cassie's glove was too big for her little hand, and once they got going, it kept falling off. She caught okay, she really had a hard time throwing. Nick, who had played in college, tried to coach her and stayed close so he'd catch what she threw, but she still had difficulty until he realized what the problem was.

"Nice catch!" he cried when she caught a ball he tossed off-course. She had caught it because instead of using her gloved left hand, she reached out instinctively with her right. The glove fell off again in her effort to catch, and when she had the ball, she subconsciously dumped it into her left hand and threw it back. It landed right in Nick's glove.

"There you go – you got it!" he exclaimed, pleased. Then he paused, realizing what he'd just seen. "Wait a minute – you're left-handed!"

"So?"

"So why aren't you throwing with your_ left hand_?" he asked, approaching.

"Because of the glove," she replied, thinking it was obvious.

He chuckled. "You know what? I'm gonna need to find you a right-handed glove," he said. Then his cell phone rang, and he rolled his eyes. "Hang on a sec, Cass."

She waited patiently while he talked briefly to someone he called Cath. When he replaced the phone on his belt and looked at her apologetically, she smiled. "You have to go to work, don't you?"

"Yeah. Sorry, kiddo – I'd much rather stay."

"Are you gonna try to come to the science fair?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll do everything I can to make it," he said, holding out his left pinkie.

She linked her right one with his, but neither one pulled away. Their hands fell between them. Pinkies thusly linked, they began to cross the yard.

Marie and Robbie approached them, having run from the front of the house. "Hey – are you guys playin' catch?" asked Marie.

"Can we play?" asked Robbie.

"Sure," he said to Robbie. Nick turned to Cassie and asked for the ball. When she put it in his hand, he pulled back his arm and threw the ball as he had in college – long and straight – into the bare, dusty expanse behind Emily's rural house. Handing the boy his glove, he patted him on the shoulder with a wink and said, "Catch, Robot," before striding across the lawn again. Cassie followed, giggling gleefully.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	5. Chapter 5

Cassie, an avid reader and natural storyteller, had fun with the rest of her science project. She presented a library book in which someone had written the phrase "I _–heart–_ Mickey Mouse" and told the story of how the four people who had the opportunity to commit the vandalism all denied any wrongdoing. Using the four black pens from Nick and volunteers for fingerprints (Emily, Susan, her own, and the pinkie-print Nick had left) she created four suspects and executed her tests. For extra credit, she presented her project to the class. They laughed at her silly made-up names and clapped when she named the vandal. She earned extra points and a good spot in the gym at the 6th grade science fair.

The fair ran from 2:00 until 4:00 on a Thursday afternoon, a month from the date the assignment had been given. Cassie was distracted from thinking about whether Nick would come for the first hour and a half, as many people were impressed, informed, and entertained by her forensics display. For the next twenty minutes, she was agitated, wondering if he'd forgotten or maybe if he had to be at a really important crime scene. The next five minutes she spent reconciled to the fact that he simply couldn't come. She sadly moved to pack away her things.

At 3:56 Nick entered the gym at Wilbur & Theresa Faiss Middle School. He looked frantically around for Cassie, and then saw her as she moved to take down her display board. He hurried over to her corner of the gym.

"Hang on a minute," he called. "Let a professional review your case – let's see if it'll stand up in court."

Turning, she grinned her million-watt grin and put the display back up. She stepped back proudly.

Nick looked over her storyboard and her experiments, commenting on the great job she had done lifting the fingerprints from the book and admiring the cleverness with which she had put together her case. "Yeah," he said, folding his arms and stepping back. "I think you got a conviction, Casserole. This Mac N. Cheese fella is goin' down hard."

"Do you like it?"

"I sure do," he replied, smiling at her. "I'm sorry I'm late – I got called in again to help out."

She shrugged, just happy that he was there. "You came," she said. "That's all that matters."

He returned her smile, grateful that he was able to do something to make her day a little brighter. "What grade did you get?" he asked.

"I got an A!" she exclaimed. "I did a presentation to the whole class and got extra credit."

He held out his fist for her to bump. She bumped. "Nice work."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Hey – I got something for you in my truck. Can you come outside a minute?"

"Okay – let me just tell my teacher where I'm going." Living with the distrustful Emily had taught Cassie to be extra careful that adults knew of her whereabouts. She had gone to the grocery store with Emily once and lingered in an aisle longer than the rest of the kids. When Emily realized she wasn't with the group she had demanded that the store manager lock the doors and call the police. Needless to say, Cassie got more than an earful when they got home, and since she had upset Emily, which always put everyone on edge, no one cared to comfort her.

She approached a middle-aged man wearing a black polo and khakis and spoke to him a moment, pointing Nick out. The man walked toward him, with Cassie leading.

"Hello," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Mr. Jacobson, Cassie's science teacher."

Nick shook. "Nick Stokes," he said. "I'm a friend of Cassie's."

"You're a police officer," he commented, noting Nick's hat and vest.

"No, he's a Crime Scene Investigator!" exclaimed Cassie, proud of her friend.

"Oh, that's right – you must've been the one who taught her about forensics. Nice to meet you."

"Cassie did a great job on her project," said Nick, gesturing toward her display.

Mr. Jacobson smiled down at Cassie. "She sure did," he praised. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for getting Cassie into this. There really aren't enough girls who take enough active interest in science. We do what we can to make it appealing to girls and boys, but most of the time the influence comes from home."

Nick was uncomfortable for a moment, not knowing how much Mr. Jacobson knew of Cassie's home situation. "Glad to help out," was all he could say.

"Cassie says you need to go outside for a second?" Nick nodded in affirmation. "That's fine. She just needs to get her display cleaned up and back here in time for Mrs. Edstrom to bring her back home."

"Oh, I can bring her home, if that's okay," he offered.

Mr. Jacobson looked a little uncomfortable. "I think it'd be best if Mrs. Edstrom took her home."

"Miss Emily doesn't like surprises," Cassie reminded him.

He smiled saccharinely at Mr. Jacobson. "Right. No problem. We'll just be a minute." He walked toward the doors of the gym and hoped Cassie would follow.

She did, but she had to jog a little to keep up with him. "Nick?"

He slowed down, but didn't look at her. "Yeah, Cass."

"Are you okay?"

He stopped walking, pausing to control the tone of his voice and his expression before he turned to look at her. "I don't like not being trusted."

She looked crushed. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," he said. "As long as _you_ trust me, I'm okay. I'll deal with Emily and whoever else. Okay?"

She nodded, but her worried look remained. "Okay."

"Cassie, you don't have anything to be sorry about or to worry over," he said, his tone more gentle. "This is a silly . . . _adult_ thing, and I'll figure out how to make Emily trust me with you. All right?"

She adjusted her features. "All right." She held up a pinkie. He smilingly linked it with his own and led her to the department-owned Denali.

"This isn't your truck," she noted.

"Nope – it's the city's. I'm not supposed to use my own truck to take evidence from crime scenes." He opened the passenger door and extracted the object that he had brought along, handing it to her proudly.

"It's pink!" she squealed, and jumped up and down. "Oh, I love it, Nick!"

"Put it on, princess," he said. "Let's make sure it fits."

Cassie tugged the baseball glove over her right hand and flexed her fingers. "It's a little stiff."

"That'll get better the more you use it. Now, I'm going to come out again on Saturday afternoon. See if you can get that Robot guy to play with you a little – loosen it up. When I get there, it'll really get a workout."

"Deal!" she exclaimed. "Thanks, Nicky!" She reached up for a hug, which he willingly bestowed. She kept the glove on and walked with her left pinkie linked again with Nick's right one back into the school, where they said good-bye until Saturday.

After leaving Cassie's school, Nick went home and showered. He tried to get Mr. Jacobson's uncomfortable look out of his mind, but it kept haunting him, like Susan's distrustful stare.

When he laid down on his bed he silently hoped that sleep would claim him quickly. He was tired and sore, and that usually did the trick. More often than not, if he slept heavily the likelihood that he'd wake in a cold sweat was fairly minimal. Also, he had figured out that when his legs became tangled in the sheets he woke every time to phantom pain crawling in his skin, as if the ghosts of the ants from the box had crept into his dreams to gnaw on him in his sleep. Because of this, he started sleeping on top of the covers.

Later that evening, it was actually his alarm that woke him. He didn't dream anymore – he had given up on that – but he did have occasional bouts of good, solid sleep, which was probably one of the only things that held him together that night.

He and Greg had been assigned a burglary at a residence in Henderson. On the drive out there, Greg looked at him from the passenger seat.

"What's eatin' you, Nick?"

Distracted, Nick looked briefly at Greg. "Huh?"

"I've been talking to you for the last ten minutes about my vacation and you haven't said a word, not even to make fun of me."

"You were on vacation?"

"For the last four days, Nick."

He let out a sigh and turned back to the road. "Sorry, Greggo." He wondered briefly if talking to Greg about Cassie and his troubles with Emily would be a good idea. All Warrick ever seemed to want to talk about anymore was Tina and how she didn't understand his job. Sara might make a big deal out of it – or she might not, one never knew with her – and Catherine . . . . _Don't even go there,_ he told himself. _She'll skewer you and eat you for breakfast._

"Hey Greg, do you remember the case we worked up in Pioche?" The words came involuntarily out of his mouth.

"The McBrides, right? Who could forget that?"

"Not me," he said quietly.

"I noticed that one rattled your cage," said Greg, turning in his seat and sipping his Blue Hawaiian. "You aren't still thinkin' about it, are you?"

He shook his head. "Nah . . . not about the case itself. Listen, Sanders . . . would you mind if I bounced somethin' off ya?"

Nick Stokes was not a talker, so his request caught Greg off-guard a little. Curiously, he urged his friend and colleague to go on. "No, not at all. What's up?"

"Well . . . you remember the kid, right?"

"Yeah. What was her name – Casey, wasn't it? Poor little girl."

"It's Cassie." Nick was quiet a moment, trying to formulate what he'd say to Greg, who miraculously was waiting patiently. _I've been seeing her_ was not the right thing to say, although it was the only succinct phrase he could think of. "You're right when you say that case rattled my cage. The one kid's case was extradited to Clark County and I testified . . . Cassie was there."

"How's she holdin' up?"

"She's in a foster home," he replied. "I don't think she's doing very well."

"How do you know?"

Nick let out another sigh. "I started visiting her. The first time I saw her at the trial, she ran up to me and gave me this huge hug – I thought she'd never let go. She held onto my hand like she was afraid I'd forget she was there. And after the guy was sentenced, the DA wanted to talk to her so I introduced them. She was so angry." Nick shook his head. "But then . . . she just got sad, y'know, like she didn't have a friend in the world."

Greg smirked from the passenger seat. "You gave her your phone number, didn't you?"

Nick kept his eyes on the road, hating that he was so predictable. "Yeah."

"Did she call?"

"I called," he said. They had arrived at the house, and he pulled into the driveway next to the police cruiser.

"Ahh, I see," declared Greg. "She's Princess, of _'Hey, princess. Feelin' better?'_ fame."

Nick put the Denali in park and turned a sardonic expression toward Greg. "Your drawl needs work."

"But it's not bad," replied Greg as he ambled out of the truck.

"Anyway," said Nick as they grabbed their kits and headed up the front walk, "she's got this look like she's not sleeping well. Her foster mother . . . I think she's all right, but she's got this tough-love, don't-trust-anyone thing goin' on and I don't like it."

"Because she doesn't trust _you_?"

"You wouldn't like it either," he countered. "I'm a perfectly respectable person."

They entered the house then, and as they set to work processing the scene, which was nothing short of chaotic, they focused on their work and for that little while, all Nick needed to think about were fingerprints and a pool of urine he found in the kitchen.

"We got next to nothing," complained Greg as he climbed back into the Denali.

"Yeah . . . I'm glad we're not the cleanup brigade, though – I've always been glad about that."

Greg agreed, and then said, "You were saying you wanted to bounce something off me?"

"I what?" Buckling his seat belt, Nick squished his face up at his younger colleague.

"You asked me if you could bounce something off of me," he repeated. "You complained about Cassie's foster mother, but not much else."

Nick made a sound from the back of his throat as he turned around to back out of the driveway. "I don't know," he said as soon as he'd straightened and put the truck in drive. "D'you think it's asking too much to trust a single guy with an 11-year-old girl? Am I just bein' a dummy here?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't think so. But I know you."

"I'm a law enforcement officer, for cryin' out loud."

"Yeah, but you and I both know that means nothing. How many supposedly stand-up citizens have we interrogated?" Nick sighed again from the driver's seat. "I know I'm not helping you feel any better about not being trusted, but I'm gonna guess that this Emily lady's been burned in the past and she's not willing to put her foster kids at risk."

Nick thought a moment before replying. "But if she's so dead-set against me, how do I make her trust me?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know. But a good start would probably be to just keep being a friend to Princess and work with what Emily gives you. If you push, she's gonna shove back."

The older man was quiet again. "I hate it when you're right. I mean, it only happens rarely, but still."

Greg didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed at Nick's return to his teasing ways. "Aaand he's off!"

Nick chuckled, his eyes on the road. He didn't really hate it that Greg was right; in fact, Greg had vocalized the teeny little thought in Nick's head that, the first time he'd met Emily, tried to tell him that there was a reason she didn't trust him.

Suddenly Greg sniggered from the passenger seat. "Something funny, Sanders?"

"Yeah – _you_ playing with dollies," he replied.

Nick scowled. "I don't play with dollies."

"What do you mean you don't play with dollies?" laughed Greg. "You're spending time with a ten year old and you don't play dolls with her?"

"First of all, she's eleven, and she doesn't _have_ . . . any . . . dolls. That I know of."

"Well, what do you do, then? Play dress-up?"

Nick swatted his shoulder. "No," he growled. "We play games. By the way, do you know how hard it is to find right-handed baseball gloves?"

"I'm not really into the Great American Pastime," replied Greg, rubbing his arm.

"You should put down your iPod for a while and give it a shot. Anyway – she's left-handed. I got her a pink one."

"Pink, huh?" Greg shook his head. "You've gone soft, Stokes."

"Shut up, Sanders."

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	6. Chapter 6

Gil Grissom stood at the receptionist's desk gathering his messages. As he was trying to interpret one of them, the receptionist approached him and motioned to the waiting area of the lobby. "Dr. Grissom, this lady's been waiting for you for about forty minutes."

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "Did she say why?"

"No, but she didn't ask for you by name. She asked for Nick Stokes' supervisor. I've been trying to avoid calling Ecklie."

"I'm sure Nick Stokes appreciates that," replied Grissom. "What's her name?"

"Emily Patterson."

"Thanks Judy," Grissom replied, and then turned to approach a scrawny woman with mousy brown hair and tired gray eyes. "Miss Patterson?"

"Are you Gil Grissom?"

Grissom noted a perpetually displeased air about Emily Patterson, but didn't know what to think of it yet. "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

"I need to speak with you about a subordinate of yours – Nick Stokes."

"Let's take this into my office," he replied. "We'll have more privacy there." He led Emily down the hall and opened the door for her, surprised when a little girl followed her into the room. They stood in front of his desk, waiting for him to take his seat, but although he shut the door he did not sit down. "Will you introduce me to your friend?"

"This is Cassie," replied Emily, but offered no other explanation.

Grissom shook Cassie's hand, smiling at her, and then walked around his desk to be seated. Once he had set his file and messages aside, he began. "You wanted to talk about Nick."

Emily then plunged into her explanation of her presence there. "Yes. I understand Mr. Stokes investigated when Cassie's family was murdered."

"What's your last name, Cassie?" asked Grissom gently, thinking that it was inappropriate for her to be there.

"McBride," she replied. "I used to live in Pioche. Nick found me."

Wires connecting missing links together, Grissom turned back to Emily. "That's right."

"I run a foster home, Mr. Grissom, and Cassie was placed with me when the sheriff that took her in decided he didn't want her anymore. She cried herself to sleep every night for three months. I got her into school, I got her adjusted to living in foster care, and then when all of the court appearances and trials were finally over for her, your guy Stokes comes back into her life to blow it all to pieces. Isn't this kind of contact inappropriate for you folks?"

"Not necessarily," he replied evenly while internally shaking his head at Nick. "Cassie, why don't you tell me about this?"

She cleared her throat nervously. "Well . . . I went to Luke's trial, and I saw Nick there. He introduced me to the district attorney and she and Nick explained a lot of stuff to me that I didn't understand – like stuff that went on in the trial – and then after that, me and Nick talked. He was nice to me and gave me his phone number, and he called me."

"And what did you talk about?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing. I was sick and I had to do my homework, so he just called the next day instead."

"Does he call you every day?"

She shook her head. "No," she replied, starting to wonder if maybe she had gotten Nick in trouble.

"What do you talk about when he does call?" asked Grissom.

Cassie couldn't tell if he was really interested, or if she was just being used as a pawn to punish someone. "Different stuff. He taught me about forensic science and gave me some ideas for my science project."

"What was your project?" asked Grissom, his tone even and gentle.

She smiled, and as well as Grissom knew Nick, he could imagine how much that smile would light up Nick's world. Grissom knew he missed his family sorely, particularly all those nieces and nephews. "I solved a crime using fingerprints and chromatography," she replied proudly. "I got an A!"

Grissom smiled back, nodding his approval. "Nice work."

"He comes to visit me, too. We just play catch or games or stuff. He's my friend."

Just then the door rattled, and Warrick stepped in, followed by the topic of their conversation. Neither of them noticed the inconspicuous foster mother and little girl sitting in his visitor's chairs. "Grissom," Warrick said, his tone dark, "we can't take another four cases. We just pulled three consecutive doubles, we're swamped as it is and I don't know about Dallas over here, but I want to go home. It's nine AM. Can't we pass these off to days?"

"Dallas wants to go home, too," said Nick, by his side stifling a yawn.

"Go ahead, Warrick," replied Grissom. "Nick, we need to talk."

Warrick looked over at his friend and colleague, too tired to be really concerned. "Good luck with that, Nicky. I'll see you around." He patted his shoulder and left the office as Nick turned to Grissom and walked closer to his desk.

"What's up, Griss?"

Wordlessly, Grissom gestured to Emily. Rumpling his brow, he greeted her politely. "Hi, Emily," he said. "Is something wrong? Is Cassie okay?"

"I'm fine," said Cassie herself from the other chair. Surprised, Nick turned and smiled.

"Hey, princess," he exclaimed, embracing her. "What are you doing here?"

"Miss Emily brought me," she explained.

"Nick, why don't you take your friend down to the water cooler for a few minutes. You and I can chat later on."

Confused, he nodded, but hesitated to move so he could look over Grissom's face for a clue to what was going on. "Okay," he said finally, reaching for Cassie's hand. "We'll be in the lobby."

The little girl rose up out of the chair and placed her hand in Nick's. Before she followed him out of the office, which she was glad to leave, she turned back to the older man and said, "Mr. Grissom, you're not angry with Nick, are you?"

"Should I be?"

She shook her head emphatically, ignoring Emily's attempts to shush her. "No. Nick is my friend. He doesn't make me upset, he's the only person who makes me feel normal."

Uncomfortable and starting to get angry, Nick urged Cassie out the door so that Emily could say whatever it was she had to say about him to Grissom. On his way out, he shot both of them filthy looks.

Confused, but not rattled by Nick's expression, once the door was closed Grissom turned back to Emily. "You were saying?"

"Cassie paints a pretty picture, but she sees things through the eyes of an eleven year old who doesn't understand life yet. That guy, he comes to the house and calls her princess and thinks he's helping her, but when he leaves again she's worse off – she has constant nightmares and she doesn't sleep. She's still having a tough time making friends. It'd really be better if he'd just stop coming to visit her."

"Respectfully, Miss Patterson, I don't see how that would help."

"Cassie doesn't need to have her head and her ego inflated only to be cheerfully sent back to a place where it's not going to last. He's just using her to make himself feel like a hero and she doesn't need it."

"Have you brought these concerns up with Nick?"

"When I told Mr. Stokes about Cassie's nightmares, he started talking about post-traumatic stress disorder and told me I needed to get her to a therapist. I don't need to be told how to do my job."

Grissom sighed. "I can speak to him about this, Miss Patterson, but I'm not sure I can help you. This is a personal matter for Nick and frankly, it doesn't sound like anything that the department needs to be concerned about is going on."

"One of your people is upsetting one of my kids and you don't think you need to be concerned about that?"

"Cassie didn't seem upset when she saw Nick – she gave him a hug."

"Mr. Grissom-"

"Miss Patterson, Nick isn't acting on behalf of the department and no inappropriate contact has been made. If the case is closed and the litigation is over, there isn't any reason Nick can't be a friend to Cassie."

"Mr. Grissom, I got a kid in pain here and I'm askin' for some help. Stokes ain't helpin'."

"I'll talk to Nick, in the interest of trying to help Cassie, but that's all I can offer."

Emily sighed. "I guess if that's all I can get, that's all I can get," she said, annoyed, "but if this doesn't stop I'll be back to talk to your supervisor."

"His name is Ecklie," replied Grissom helpfully as Emily rose up out of the chair. She exited his office, closing the door soundly behind herself without issuing a good-bye. Grissom simply sighed and mumbled, "Oh, Nicky."

Nick offered Cassie a soda on the way down the hall; she declined. When they reached the sunny visitor's area, he chose a seat next to her and asked, "What's goin' on, Cass?"

She looked up at him, her eyes round. "You'll be mad," was all she said.

"But you promised to always be honest with me," he reminded her, "and I'm not going to be mad at you."

She heaved a sigh, and began her explanation. "Miss Emily doesn't want you to come see me anymore. She thinks it's bad for me."

"Why would she think that?"

Cassie paused for a split second to consider how she could answer. She could never tell him that she had nightmares. After complaining so much about adults treating her like a baby, she didn't want him to think that maybe she really was one. "She thinks it makes me feel lonely when you leave."

"Does it?"

"Well . . . yeah. But I don't want you to stop coming to visit."

It was odd, but he was pleased by this admission. "I won't," he assured her with a smile, but didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, she saved him with an observation.

"Mr. Grissom's office reminds me of science class. It's kind of creepy."

He laughed. "Yeah, Grissom's a little . . . quirky. It's Dr. Grissom, actually. He's an entomologist – studies bugs."

"Bugs are gross," she replied dismissively. Privately, Nick agreed with her. "Does subordinate mean that he's in charge of you?"

"Yep. Dr. Grissom is my boss."

"So when you have a boss do they get to tell you what you can do when you're not at work?"

"For the most part, no," he replied with a smile, impressed with her perception. "But there are some things I'm not allowed to do. I'm not allowed to get into trouble with the law, for example – I might get fired for that."

"So what is it like having a boss?" she asked, turning towards him.

"Well . . . it's a little like having an extra parent," he replied, wanting to bring the explanation down to her level. "A boss – or a supervisor, a manager, a lead – is supposed to help you. They're supposed to teach you new things about your job, help you work through things, help you get better, be an advocate for you . . . and keep you out of harm's way. I mean, I guess that's how I think of Dr. Grissom. He's like another dad to me."

"You don't like my dad, do you?"

He was caught off guard a little by the tone of her voice and the sharpness of her observation. He chose his words carefully. "I think your dad put his family in danger by doing what he did," he replied. "To be fair, Cassie, I didn't know your dad so I can't say that I like him or not. I'd say I was angry at him, more than anything."

"Do you get angry at all the people you have to investigate?"

"No. Lots of people do dangerous things . . . if I got angry at everyone I'd always be angry."

"Then why are you angry at my dad?"

He sighed softly and shook his head. "I'm not angry any more, Cassie, but when I was it was because he let you down. He hurt you, and that makes me sad."

She put her hand on his. "Don't be sad for me," she said gently. "I'm okay. School is a lot better in Blue Diamond, and I'm getting used to Miss Emily."

He forced a smile. "That's good," he said.

"Plus, I have you for a friend. Right?"

The hope in her icy blue eyes made him produce a more genuine smile. "Right." He held out his pinkie, and she linked hers with it.

Emily's sharp voice came from the hallway. "It's time to go, Cassie." Nick glared back at her in response.

She deflated a little and tightened her grip on his finger. "I guess I'll see you later."

He leaned over to hug her tight. "Soon, Cassie," he said, and they parted. "Real soon."

As Cassie left the building and they waved to each other, the loss that Nick felt hit him forcibly. A thought began to form in his mind that the loss might not be necessary, that maybe there was a way he could make sure she always had a good friend and understanding ear close by. It would prove to be a thought that he would be unable to shake.

"Nick, what are you doing?"

He had barely entered Grissom's office when his supervisor's impatient question assaulted his ears. He sighed. "Grissom, do I have to discuss this with you?"

"Technically, no, but I told Emily Patterson I'd have a word with you. What's going on with you and this Cassie McBride?"

"She's a lonely kid and I'm trying to give her some attention," he replied, exhausted and irritated. "It's not a crime to help an eleven year old with her homework or take her to the park to play catch."

"It could be considered professionally inappropriate."

"It could be, but it's not."

Grissom allowed Nick to be brusque with him, since Nick usually wasn't flippant unless he felt like he was personally on trial. He sighed. "All right, Nicky . . . all right. But just so you're warned, Emily threatened to come back to talk to Ecklie."

"Look, I don't know what you're expecting from me here. I'm not going to stop visiting Cassie – I don't want to, and Cassie doesn't want me to. I'm not doing anything unethical, I'm tired of fighting with Emily, and I don't want to fight with you."

"Nick, all I'm telling you is that you might have to make this impassioned speech to Ecklie."

All Nick could do was shake his head. "I guess I've been warned." Grissom nodded, but said nothing. Impatiently, he snapped, "Are we done here?"

"Yes, Nick."

He headed to the locker room with an odd empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. Opening his locker, he sat down on the bench with a sigh. As he closed his eyes he ran his fingers through his hair and leaned on his knees with his elbows, resting his head in his hands.

"You know, you look mean when you're angry."

He looked slightly to his left to see Sara Sidle enter the locker room. "You know I'm not a mean guy, Sar."

"Yeah, I do," she said, sitting next to him. "But that lady doesn't. You have to make nice with the foster parents."

Nick was quiet a moment, and then sat up. "You ever known anyone who lived at a foster home?"

"Yeah." She bumped his right knee with her left until he looked at her. "Me."

He creased his brow. "Really? For how long?"

She smiled. "That's a story for another time," she said gently. "What do you want to know?"

He looked away again. "I just wonder if she can ever be happy there," he said. "She seems so sad . . . but she lost her whole family and she had to move away from everything she knew."

"If you want me to answer your question, Nick, I'm not going to sugar-coat it."

He turned to face her, straddling the bench. "Okay."

Sara swallowed and her face turned somber as her eyes met Nick's. "Listen . . . I know Cassie's family was murdered. I know she saw the aftermath . . . I know she was kidnapped and I know the little bastard tried to cut her throat and that's nothing short of horrific. But . . . she's living in a house with a bunch of kids who have probably been brutalized since the day they were born – physically, emotionally, and ninety-five percent of the time, sexually. The ones who've been taken away from their parents for good know they'll never be adopted and the ones who are told they'll only be there for a few months know that eventually, they're coming back. They'd all love to trade places with a kid like Cassie McBride . . . there's no one who feels sorry for someone whose first ten years were picture-perfect. All you can really do is be there for her. I wish I could tell you that there's something more you can do . . . but there just isn't."

Nick looked into his locker for a moment. "Yeah, there is."

She shook her head in confusion. "What?" When he turned to look at her again, she realized what he meant. She lowered her voice as she met his gaze. "You're not . . . thinking of adoption . . . are you?"

He was quiet a moment. "I don't know, Sar . . . I'm forty . . . I don't have a family of my own and working this job on this shift, I'm not likely to get one. Cassie needs someone . . . I need someone." He looked back up at her, expecting to see her confused scowl. Instead, he saw a little grin. "What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing . . . I just . . . think it's cute."

"Don't call me cute, Sara. You know guys hate being called cute."

"But it _is_ cute, Nick," she said, shoving his shoulder a little and still smiling her lopsided smile. "You're in love with a short, flat-chested book nerd. I never would have suspected."

He laughed at the picture she painted. Turning back to face his locker, he shook his head and wondered if Sara was right. "She is pretty special."

"Look, Nick – whatever you decide, whatever you need . . . I'm there for you." She smiled and patted his shoulder as she rose. "See you tonight."

"Thanks, Sara," he replied quietly. When he left the lab that morning, his heart felt a little lighter.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	7. Chapter 7

On his next day off, Nick drove out to Blue Diamond. He purposely went unannounced. A handful of Emily's kids were outside playing; he didn't see Cassie among them. He climbed the steps and knocked on the screen door.

Emily approached and opened the door, but didn't allow him to enter the house. "You know, some people think it's weird – a grown man with so much interest in a little girl."

Nick removed his sunglasses, suppressing the anger that bubbled at her accusation. "So you don't trust me."

"No."

"Contacting my supervisor like that is harassment. You want me to call yours?"

"It's my job to protect her, Mr. Stokes. I can't afford to trust people I don't know."

Nick was about to reply that all she had to do was open her mouth and ask a few questions, but Cassie approached, so he kept quiet. She stood next to her foster mother and tentatively said, "Miss Emily, you can trust Nick. He's a good guy."

"It's rude to eavesdrop, Cassie," she snapped in reply.

Cassie took a step backward. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"There isn't any need for that kind of tone," objected Nick, who knew he had that mean, angry look on his face.

"Miss Emily," said Cassie quickly, as though to stem the argument she could sense brewing between them, "my homework's done and my room's clean. I cleaned Susan's side of the room, too . . . only I didn't know where to put her clothes, so I put them on her bed. May I please go with Nick?"

Emily glared at Nick. "I want to know where she is every hour, and I want her back here in one piece in time for supper. I will have your ass if she's not."

Nick held his hand out to Cassie, who took it. "Have it your way." Without another word, he turned around and led Cassie to his truck. He helped her into the front seat and then climbed in himself, sighing as he sat back and turned over the engine.

As the truck roared to life, Cassie turned to look at him. "Are you mad?"

He instantly softened his features as he looked back at her in surprise. "No, I'm not mad, kiddo," he replied. "Miss Emily's just trying to protect you, that's all." He rubbed the top of her head and smiled a little. "You all right?"

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "I'm better now."

"Let's go get some lunch. We'll see if we can put a real smile on that face." Cassie just nodded and rested her head against the seat. Nick's heart broke for her, and his decision was made in that moment. "It's gonna be okay, Cass," he said quietly, beginning to rack his brain for the names of attorneys he knew who could help him. He held out his hand and hoped she'd take it.

She did. "Thanks for coming to visit," she replied. Nick squeezed her fingers and drove away from Emily's house.

Cassie was still quiet when they arrived in Las Vegas. He picked a quiet, out-of-the-way restaurant and held her hand as they walked in. The waitress settled them into a booth and handed them menus. Nick ordered a cup of coffee; Cassie declined anything but water.

Nick creased his brow. "You don't want a Coke or something?" he asked when the waitress walked away.

She shook her head. "No, it's okay," she replied. "You don't need to buy me lunch, either."

"Did you already eat lunch?"

"No, but you don't have to buy it for me. I like you already."

Taken aback by this, Nick paused to carefully formulate his reply. "Cassie . . . what makes you think that I want to bribe you into liking me?"

She seemed to ponder his question a moment. "Well . . . Susan says that if you don't have parents, adults only buy you things to make you like them. She says that's just the way most grown-ups are. She said that's why you bought me the baseball glove." Actually, Susan had said a lot more on the subject of her gift from Nick, but she wasn't about to repeat it.

"That's not true," he said gently. "I bought you that baseball glove because I wanted you to have it."

"But Susan knows a lot of adults," countered Cassie. "She said they all do it – even like her therapists and stuff. And David, he's nine, and Marie, she's thirteen, they said-"

Nick cut her off by holding up a hand. "Hold on, now," he began. "_I_ know a lot of adults . . . and you know what? There _are_ adults who try to make people like them by doing them favors or by buying them gifts. But those people are dishonest, and I'm not one of them. I'm sorry that Susan knows so many dishonest people."

"I know you're not dishonest, Nick," she replied quietly. "It's just . . . I don't know anyone anymore . . . I don't have any good friends anymore . . . I used to be able to talk to anyone, but I can't anymore. I just want people to like me, but they don't." She put her hand across the scar on her throat and looked out the window, lowering her voice. "I think something's wrong with me – like everyone can tell that something bad happened to me and they should stay away."

Nick's throat tightened. "There's nothing wrong with you, Cass. You've been through a lot. It just takes time to make good friends."

"That's what everyone says, but people don't treat me the same anymore. I wish I didn't have this big ugly scar. I wish people would just treat me like a normal kid."

"I try, Cassie," he said, and when she looked up at him her big blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He wondered if he had done enough. "I try to be your friend . . . you know _me_, and I'm not going anywhere."

Cassie looked across the table at him, grateful that he was there. "I know." She swept the tears from her eyes with a blink, and then a smile started to creep across her face. "Thanks for being my friend, Nickelbee."

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "There's a real smile. That's much better."

The waitress came back with Nick's coffee and Cassie's water, and asked if they were ready to order. Before Nick could respond that they'd need a little more time, Cassie piped up. "Can I have a Dr. Pepper, please?"

The waitress nodded. "Sure, doll. What do you want to eat?"

She stole a glance at Nick. "Can I have a grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Sure."

"With tomato?"

"Sure."

"And bacon?"

"Sure," said the waitress, smiling. "Do you want any chips or fries?"

"No, thanks."

She turned to Nick. "And what can I get for you?"

He smilingly ordered his lunch and handed back their menus. When the waitress was gone, he turned back to Cassie. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about . . . it's pretty serious, so I want you to think about it before you answer me."

Her eyes big and curious, she nodded. "Okay."

Nick cleared his throat before beginning. "I was thinking . . . how would you like . . . I mean, how would you feel about maybe . . . maybe coming to live with me?"

She looked at him sideways. "You mean, like . . . you'd adopt me?"

He nodded. "Yeah . . . I'd like to."

"You can do that?"

"Well sure, Cass. Why not?"

"But you're not married. I thought you have to be married."

He shook his head. "No . . . you don't have to be married. You . . . have to be responsible, and you have to have a job . . . and you can't be in any trouble with the law . . . and you have to be a good person . . . that's all."

"But why would you want to adopt me if you're not married?"

He cleared his throat again, not really knowing what to say. "I don't know," he said, floundering a little. "Seems like you and I get along pretty well . . . you need a permanent home, and I have room . . . you know, I grew up with all kinds of people in the house all the time, but here in Vegas . . . I really don't have anyone." He paused a little and hoped that what he was saying made sense to her. "Your mom and dad would want you to have a good home, and I think I can give you one. They'd want you to be happy, and I can see that you're not. I just want to help you be a happy kid again."

"Why?"

He wondered how much neglect Cassie had really been subject to, but replied differently. "Because I like you," he said simply, "and because I want someone to care about."

Cassie turned to look out the window. "Would I have to call you Dad?"

"No," he softly replied. "I don't want to replace your family, Cassie. I just want to take care of you."

"What would you have to do?" She turned back to him, adjusting her eyes from the bright sun.

"I don't know yet," he replied. "I thought I'd talk to you first . . . I wanted to know what you thought about it first."

"What do I have to do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Except it would mean that you'd have to move again, and you'd have to start all over at a new school again. For right now, I just want you to think about it . . . about everything that moving again would mean. Vegas is a lot different than little Pioche, or even Blue Diamond. There might be a lot to get used to."

Nick was unprepared for her next question. "Would I be happy there?"

His heart broke a little more. "I hope so," was all he could really say.

She turned to look out the window again. "Do you know anything about having kids?"

With a smirk, he shook his head. "I sure don't, Cassie. But you know, when people have babies, they don't know much, either. They might take a couple of classes and learn how to change a diaper, but for the most part, they just learn as they go. You and me could do that. I promised to be honest with you, and you promised to be honest with me, so that should get us through the rough spots all right. And besides, you can already talk and walk and feed yourself. Technically I'm a leg up on most people." She giggled a little; it made him smile. "You think about it, princess. Tell me what you want to do, and I'll make it happen."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Now," he continued, as their food was served to them, "what do you want to do until I have to bring you back to Miss Emily?"

She took a sip of her soda and thought for a minute. "Why don't you tell me about you?" she suggested. "You know all about me, but I don't know much about you."

"Oh." Nick rumpled his brow. "I guess I never thought of that. Where do you want me to start?"

"Well . . . ." She blushed a little and looked at her plate. "I guess I always wondered where your accent's from."

He grinned. "Texas," he said proudly. "I grew up in Dallas."

"Cool. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I do," he replied, his lips curling into a smile. "I have one brother and five sisters."

"That's a lot of sisters," she said with a smile. "What are their names?"

"My brother is Billy, after my dad – he's William the third, so Billy's the fourth. Then I have Kathleen, Lauren, Audra, Helen, and Becky for sisters. All my siblings are triplets."

"How can they be triplets if one of 'em's a boy?" she asked dubiously.

"Triplets and twins aren't always identical – you'll probably learn that in biology this year. Billy, Kathleen, and Lauren were born first, then Audra, Helen, and Becky. Then me."

"That's cool," she said with a smile. "Do they have kids?"

"Buckets of kids," he replied, eating his lunch. "Let's see . . . there's Kathleen's two daughters Laura and Maria – their dad is Mexican so you have to say their names right – then, Lauren's got a son named Eddie, and Audra has triplet girls, Anna, Sammie, and Grace. She's also got twin boys, David and Aaron. Helen has two sets of twin boys – Mikey and John, and Richie and Kevin. And then Becky has Chelsea and Jimmy. So that's . . . fourteen?"

Cassie laughed. "That's the biggest family I ever heard of," she said as she picked up her sandwich.

"It's the only kind of family I ever had," he replied. "Now what else can I tell you about? Oh, my mom and dad," he decided.

"Yeah – what did they do before they retired?"

"Well, my dad's not retired. He's still working. He's a supreme court justice in Texas."

She looked truly impressed by this news. "So he'd be, like, above Judge Kaisershot, if he was in Nevada?"

He nodded. "You could say that. Now, my mom, she was a district attorney for a long time."

"Oh, like Elizabeth," Cassie noted. "She must be really smart, too."

Nick smiled. "She sure is."

"Does everyone still live in Texas?" Nick nodded, chewing. "Why do you live here?"

"That's kind of complicated. I wanted to get away from my family . . . not my family, really, but the expectations everyone had because of who my parents were."

"Do you like it here?"

"I do," he replied, "although, I miss home a lot sometimes."

"I know how you feel," she said. "I used to do my homework in my mom's coffee shop. I miss that."

He smiled. "I bet you do. Do you remember me telling you I was always sick as a kid?"

She nodded, smiling. "You said your sisters called you Sicky Nicky."

"That's right," he said with a grin. "I was born two months early and until I was about ten I got sick really easily. It was tough because I had to watch my brother do things like play baseball, and I wasn't allowed to. But my mom makes the best brownies in all of Texas, and whenever I got upset about it, she'd surprise me with them or we'd make them together. Some days I wish I could go home and just smell brownies baking."

Cassie smiled; Nick really did understand. "You know what I like about you, Nick?"

He met her eyes and raised an eyebrow to prompt her to continue.

"When I talk about my parents or my brother, you don't go all weird."

He smiled comfortingly at her. "It's tough for people to hear about the dead," he explained. "It makes them uncomfortable – especially if they died from something other than old age. It reminds people that some day, they'll die too. People in Pioche were probably uncomfortable because nothing like what happened to your family ever happened there. Kids at Miss Emily's probably are uncomfortable because they don't know how you'll react to questions about what happened."

"Do you have to deal with dead people all the time?" she asked.

"No, not all the time. We investigate any crime that happens. But even when we do investigate deaths, it's not as gruesome as it sounds. A lot of times, it's an accident or no one really knows what happened, and that can be frustrating. But it helps to remember that people who've died had families and lives, and they deserve justice, and closure, and the truth."

She was quiet for a minute, chewing her food. "Is that why you worked so hard to find me?"

Nick stopped and met her eyes shrewdly. He put down his fork and placed his hands in his lap; his appetite was suddenly lost. He gazed at her silently, and then said, "I pinkie-swore that I'd always be honest with you."

"Yeah."

"I don't want to tell you why I worked so hard to find you."

"How come?"

"It's too much," he replied, his voice thick. "It's too much for me to tell; too much for you to hear." If she pressed him, he would tell her because she deserved to know, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his composure.

Cassie simply assumed this meant that someone had hurt him and he wasn't quite over it yet. She remembered that her dad and Jeremy didn't like to talk about their feelings; she'd had more than one frustrated conversation with her mother about that. "Will you tell me some day?"

Relief shot through his body in a cool blast, and he smiled gratefully. "Yes," he said. "I'll pinkie-swear to that, too." He held out his pinkie.

She reached across the table to grasp it with her own. "Promise?"

"Promise." He pulled. They smiled at each other for a minute, and then Nick suggested a movie. Cassie, not having been to a movie in a very long time, readily agreed, and they enjoyed the remainder of their afternoon.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	8. Chapter 8

It was a little after two o'clock in the morning and Nick was waiting in the evidence locker for a box to be pulled for him. He was chatting with Detective Vartann about a recent case when his cell phone rang.

"Stokes."

He could hear sobbing in the background. "Stokes, this is Emily Patterson."

"Emily," he repeated, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Cassie had a nightmare and she won't stop crying," explained Emily. "She's asking for you."

Nick thanked the officer who'd handed him the evidence box and waved to Vartann as he left the room. "Can you put her on the phone?"

"All right," said Emily, and he could hear shuffling as she handed the phone off.

"Nicky?" Her voice was warbly.

"Hey, princess," he said, trying to soothe her as he walked down the hall, the box in one hand and his phone in the other. "I heard you had a bad dream."

"I had a _nightmare_," she sobbed, sounding angry. "Nicky, please, I need to see you. I'm scared."

Touched, he chuckled a little. "Honey, it's two AM-"

"I know what time it is!" Nick stopped in the middle of the hallway, surprised at the tone of her voice. "Emily's yelled it at me three times already! _Please_, Nicky!" Then he heard the phone shuffling again, and Emily's voice was in his ear.

"Listen, Stokes, I don't want you to come out here any more than you want to deal with me at two o'clock in the morning, but this kid can't settle down. She's petrified, she's shaking, and she won't talk to me."

"I'll be there, Emily," he said, trying to soothe her as well, although he didn't know why. "Tell her I'm on my way." He turned around, headed for the evidence locker. As he motioned to the officer there to put the box back where it belonged, he told Emily, "Turn on the light and give her a glass of water."

"Stokes-"

"Just _do_ it, Emily." He snapped his phone shut, signed the evidence back in, and marched to Grissom's office. The door was shut and Sara was inside, but he didn't really care. "Grissom, I gotta go," he said.

"The rest room's around the corner."

His brows knit together in consternation; now was _not_ the time for Grissom's extra-dry wit. "Very funny. I have an emergency – I need to leave."

"What kind of emergency?" asked Sara, concerned.

Grissom knew about Cassie and so did Sara, but he didn't really want to go into details at the moment. Frustrated, he said, "A friend needs me," as politely as he could. Then he turned back to his boss. "I'll be back, but I gotta go."

"Then go," said Grissom, lifting an eyebrow. Nick needed no further prodding.

* * *

The light over the front door was on when he pulled up to Emily's house. He had gone much faster than he should have and knew he was lucky that he'd gotten there in one piece without a ticket. Rushing up to the door, he rapped softly, and Emily opened it.

He nodded cursorily to her and entered the house. Before he had put both feet into the living room Cassie was in his arms and he was shushing her. "It's all right, Cassie . . . I'm here. It's okay . . . Jesus, you're shakin' like a leaf."

"I was so scared, Nicky," she sobbed into his shoulder. "I was so scared."

He sat on the couch; she clung to him. "Why were you scared?" he whispered, but she was quiet, burying her face in his chest. "C'mon, Cass . . . why were you scared?"

She sobbed, embarrassed. "I had a nightmare," she warbled, and refused to look at him.

"Was I in the nightmare?" he whispered into her ear.

Her head nodded against the now-soaked cotton of his shirt.

"I know it's not easy, Cassie, but if you tell me about it, it might help."

She turned her head to the side, pressing her ear against his chest, but didn't let go of him. It was a moment before she started talking; he simply held her and rubbed her back, and waited for her to continue. "Do you remember what I told you in the hospital?" Her voice was a whisper.

"Yeah, I do."

"Jeremy's eyes were open. His glasses were broken."

"I remember."

"In my dream tonight . . . Jeremy was you."

Nick's eyes closed against the tears he felt involuntarily tingling in his nose. "I'm right here," he said, still rubbing her back, reclined on the sofa. "I'm right here." She had stopped shaking and her sobs were beginning to subside. "Do you have nightmares often, Cassie?" he asked gently.

She paused a moment before she answered. "No." Neither Cassie nor Nick saw Emily's brow crease in confusion, but she said nothing from her chair on the other side of the room.

Nick suspected that this was not true, but didn't press her. Cassie started sobbing again and all he could do was rub her back and try to soothe her. It was several moments before she had settled again, and she asked for a tissue. She thanked Emily when she had wiped her nose, and she sat up a little, staying close to Nick.

"Did something happen today that might have triggered this?" he asked, looking to both Cassie and Emily for an answer.

Emily shook her head. "Nothing at all happened today – kids didn't even have school."

"I got into a fight with Susan," whispered Cassie.

"You fight with Susan all the time," said Emily, confused. "What did you fight about today?"

"Same stuff," she replied. "She won't do her chores. She teases me. She won't leave me alone when I'm reading." _She keeps hiding my baseball glove,_ she added silently. _She calls Nick names and says bad things about him. _

Emily shook her head. "I don't know, Stokes. But you know how dreams are sometimes – who knows what triggers them or what they mean."

Nick suspected Cassie knew, but didn't say anything. He tilted her chin up and smiled. "Are you okay now?"

With tangible proof that _Nick_ was okay, she nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for coming."

"Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

She nodded against his chest. "Will you tuck me in?"

"Yeah, I'll tuck you in." He rose with Cassie in his arms, heading for the stairway.

"No," said Emily forcibly, blocking his way. "She can walk up the stairs by herself, and I'll get her into bed. Put her down."

"What he _hell_ is your problem, Emily?" Nick knew he was at the end of his rope with the foster mother, but didn't realize how tired he was of having to fight for everything with her until these words came out of his mouth. "You won't let me take her two blocks away to a park, you don't let me talk to your other kids, you come to the lab to complain to my boss about me, you called me out here to comfort her in the middle of the night – in the middle of my _shift_ – and all I want to do is take her upstairs to her own room with you on my heels and you won't even let me do that? I don't deserve this."

Her face hardened. "Fine. Go."

Cassie directed him up the stairs to her room, and whispered which bed was hers as he entered. He put her down and knelt next to her bed, and was about to speak to reassure her again when Susan rushed over.

He felt the blows from her fists on his back before he heard her screaming. "Leave her alone!" Her voice shook with fear, and Nick didn't know what to do except take her abuse until Emily could interfere. "Leave her alone, you sick fucker! Get out of here!"

Emily turned on the light and pulled Susan off of Nick. Cassie scrambled out of bed and stood in front of him, holding his hand as he looked on in confusion.

"Susan Bedortha, get a hold of yourself!" Emily had her by the shoulders and her sharp voice served to calm Susan down.

"What's he doing in here?" Her voice was still shaking, and her eyes were on Nick.

"He's just saying good-night to Cassie," explained Emily, holding her close. "It's all right."

"You're not supposed to be in a little girl's bedroom!" yelled Susan, directly at him. "It's not right!"

"Susan, it's innocent. He's Cassie's friend, like we've talked about. She had a nightmare and he came to calm her down. It's all right."

Susan responded by clinging to Emily and crying into her side. Disturbed, Nick turned to Cassie. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

He smiled into her big blue eyes. "I've been through worse, honey, and it's not your fault, so don't be sorry." Cassie climbed back into bed, and he covered her up. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

She nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Okay." He kissed her forehead. "You shouldn't worry so much about me, you know. I carry a gun, and I'm with police officers at every crime scene. I'm well-protected, Cassie, and you can call me any time."

"Thanks, Nicky." She snuggled into her pillow. Secretly, her hand found the cosmetic brush she kept hidden there. Nick had brought it with him that first visit as a part of his impromptu field kit. When Cassie was done with her project, Emily had taken most of the other items, but she didn't want the cosmetic brush. It was small enough to fit in the pocket of her jeans and under her pillow, so she'd always have some part of Nick with her wherever she was. She closed her hand around it now and smiled. "Good night."

"Good night."

Nick exited the room and walked downstairs to the living room to wait for Emily. When she got there, he snapped, "Did you do that on purpose?"

She shook her head, almost looking apologetic. _Almost_. "No. I figured she'd be asleep. But that's what you get for pushing."

"If you had said, 'Susan's afraid of men,' I wouldn't have pushed."

"Do I know that for sure?"

"Emily, what do I do for a living?" he asked, exasperated. "I deal with sick bastards and their victims of all ages – and I got news for you, a woman can do just as much damage as a man." He didn't add that he knew this from personal experience.

She was quiet. "But do you get it now?"

He paused before answering her. "Yeah, I get it." What he got was that Emily didn't trust men, either, but he didn't vocalize it.

Emily let out a breath. "Look, Stokes . . . I still don't know what you're after. But that little girl is attached to you, and these kids have so few forms of comfort . . . I know I'm not an emotional woman, but with most of these kids, tough love is far better than where they're from, which is no love. I really do want what's best for my kids. So I'm asking you . . . if you're not committed to being a friend to Cassie for Cassie's sake, then walk away."

Nick crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "I think you should know that I asked Cassie if she wanted me to adopt her."

Emily's eyes widened. "You did what?"

His chin tilted up in defiance. "We talked last week when I took her to Las Vegas. I asked her if she wanted me to adopt her."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't. I told her to think about it for a while before she answered me."

"Why would you do that before you talked to me?" asked Emily, and Nick didn't know whether she was surprised or alarmed.

"Why would I talk to you about it first?"

Emily let out a breath and looked away. She moved to the armchair she had occupied when Cassie was downstairs being comforted and sat down. "I . . . I don't know. This is a new one for me, Stokes."

"What could be new about it? Kids come and go from foster homes all the time."

"Yeah, but they're not adopted," she explained. "Kids get moved around because their foster care is temporary, or because there are too many kids in one house and another's got room, or because one foster parent can deal with a situation that another one can't. I've been doing this for fifteen years and kids have visited the homes of folks who say they want to adopt, but it's never really happened. I guess . . . the kids I get . . . they're from pretty tough backgrounds." She looked up at him, still not knowing what to think.

"If Cassie wants this," he said gently, "then it's going to happen."

She let out a breath, and then stood, her hands on her hips. "All right, Stokes. I give. I still got my eye on that kid and I always will, but I give." She met his eyes. "You're a good guy."

"Yes, I am," he said, more harshly than he needed to. He looked toward the stairs. "Do you think she'll be all right now?"

"She'll sleep the night through," replied Emily. "I'll have her call you in the morning."

He nodded his thanks. "Good night."

Nick drove far more moderately back to the lab, mulling over what had happened in his mind. By the time he got there, it was nearly four thirty and he knew he'd have to make up the time, but he pulled into the lot with a smile on his face. Whatever else the events of the early morning had meant, he knew three things. Firstly, that angry and frightened twelve-year-old girls were far stronger than he ever thought they'd be. Secondly, that Emily had finally relented and he wouldn't have to fight with her anymore. Thirdly and most importantly, that Cassie trusted him, that she had asked for him when she was frightened and distressed, that it had been his voice and his arms around her that had calmed her. His heart was more full than it had ever been.

* * *

"Nick, can I ask you something?" Cassie was swinging her feet off the edge of a retaining wall in the park by Emily's house, playing with her now-dusty pink baseball glove. It was a few days after the middle-of-the-night phone call, and when he arrived that afternoon she had been quiet, as though something had changed between them. He wondered if she was embarrassed or if she wondered if he thought less of her, but she was happily surprised when Emily had readily consented to their walk to the park, and skipped part of the way.

"You can always ask me anything, Cass," was Nick's even reply.

"Do you remember a couple of weeks ago . . . the first time you took me to Las Vegas, at lunch . . . you asked me . . ." She licked her lips, dry from the dusty playground where they had been playing catch.

Nick lowered his head, knowing what question he asked her and fearing she'd say no. "I asked you what?"

"You asked me if I wanted you to adopt me."

"Yeah, I remember," he replied, realizing that this must be the reason for her disquietude. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. Nick's heart sank.

"Okay." His voice had more optimism than he felt. "That's okay, Cassie."

"I want you to do it."

He straightened. "You do?"

"Yeah." She swallowed and then turned her head to look at him. "I always feel really good when I spend time with you. It's the only time I feel normal. Miss Emily takes care of everything and I know she cares about me, but it's not the same. She never smiles or jokes around."

Nick looked at Cassie, squinting against the setting sun. "You remember what I said, right? You'd have to start all over again. New house, new school, new friends. Everything would be strange again and you would have to work to make it your own. And our relationship wouldn't stay the same, either."

"I know; you'd be the boss." Cassie smiled up at him. "But that would be okay. I mean, I don't mind chores or homework or stuff like that, and you're a good friend. I think you and me would make a good team."

"Yeah?" A smile started to creep over Nick's face.

"Yeah."

"You sure you want this for you, Cassie? Not just because you don't like living at Emily's house? Because you might not like living at my house, either."

Cassie nodded emphatically. "The other night, when I had that nightmare and you came to make me feel better . . . I felt like . . . I felt like I had a family again. That was something my dad would do – he was always the one who'd make me feel safe if I got scared." She looked up at him, hoping he'd understand. She had been thinking that when he came that night it made her feel like she had a dad again, but she loved her dad and she wasn't looking to replace him. "I'm sure, Nick."

Nick said nothing for a second or two, but felt as though he could burst. "We'll get that ball rolling, then," he said calmly as he hopped down from the wall. Then he raised both fists and let out an unrestrained, "Woo-hoo!" When Cassie giggled at him he swept her small frame down off the wall and spun her around, squeezing tight when he stopped. "You got me, Cassie Jane." He let go and leaned on his knees, beaming at her. He was struck by the brightness of her eyes and the smile on her lips, and the quivering in his own belly that let him know at once how excited and unprepared he was to effectively gain himself a daughter. A lump rose in his throat as he repeated, "You got me." He was too emotional to say anything more.

"No, _you_ got _me_!" she exclaimed, still giggling at him.

He smiled and straightened, and then took her hand. "Maybe we got each other." They walked back to the wall and Nick collected the ball and both gloves without letting go of Cassie's hand.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Thanks for all of your lovely reviews :) I am glad you're still enjoying this. Enjoy the update!

* * *

"This is Stokes."

Stokes' son smiled upon hearing his father's voice over the phone. "So is this."

"Pancho," replied the older man. "How are you, son?"

"I'm fine, sir," Nick replied. "You got a minute?"

"Not really. I'm about to head to court. Respectable people are working at this hour, you know."

Nick smiled at his father's lighthearted barb. "Yeah, I know. Hey – I was just wondering if maybe you and Mom could come out to visit for a few days . . . there's something I need to talk to you about, but I can't get home. I'm working a case pretty closely."

"Talk to your mother," replied the judge crisply. "Tell her I said to book a flight. I'll see you in a few days, Pancho."

"Yes, sir," replied the younger Stokes, because he knew he had no other choice. He hung up the phone and delayed calling his mother by taking a shower. It was only eight o'clock in the morning; his etiquette-conscious mother would have fainted if he'd called before nine.

A few days later he found himself sitting in his living room with his parents, who he already knew were expecting something entirely different than what he was about to give them.

"So, Pancho, what's all this about?" asked Bill, his father.

Nick grinned and his face turned slightly pink with glee. "It's about a girl."

"Ohh . . . my Nicky's finally fallen in love!" exclaimed Jillian, her face breaking out into a smile. "What's her name?"

"Her name is Cassie, but-"

"Congratulations," offered Bill, with an affectionate look on his face. "Where is she?"

Nick sighed. "It's not what you think," he said. "She's a _little_ girl."

This prompted both elder Stokeses to wrinkle their brows. "What do you mean by little? How little?"

"She's eleven," he replied as he straightened, then dove headlong into an abbreviated explanation of how he met Cassie. "A little more than a year ago I worked a case up in Pioche . . . it's a little town about two hours from here. Dad was growin' pot in the basement . . . fifteen year old son bragged to some jocks at school about it so he could make friends. They came to the house looking for it with a gun. Dad and the kid were shot, and so was Mom. They tried to drug the little sister, slit her throat, and then threw all four of them into the lake, but the girl swam ashore. Everyone assumed she was dead but me. I found her, and we got her to the hospital, and she survived."

"Because someone found you, Nicky?"

Nick nodded somberly in confession. "Yeah . . . missing kid, no one had any idea where she was, time wasn't on our side – it tugged at my heartstrings more than a little. Anyway, the criminal trial just wrapped up with the last kid about a month ago, and Cassie testified. I was there . . . afterwards, we talked . . . the Lincoln County sheriff who worked with us in Pioche took her in for a while, but things didn't really go all that well-"

"Pancho . . ."

". . . and then his wife got sick, and he couldn't take care of her plus Cassie, so he put her in foster care."

"Nicky . . ."

"After the trial wrapped up I started visiting her-"

"Nicky, I don't like where this is goin' . . ."

"I think she has undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder-"

"Getting personally involved with a victim, son? You know that's not right."

"The trial's over. She's a great kid, Cisco . . . she just needs some love and attention. There's no reason I can't go visit her."

"Strictly speaking, you're right-"

The mean, angry look Nick had inherited from his mother manifested itself, and he punctuated his equally angry words by thumping his index finger on the table as he spoke. "Cops do this all the time. They call it community service and they get _medals_ for it."

Bill sighed. "What are you hoping to get out of this?"

"I'm not hopin' to get your _permission_," he said pointedly. "If Billy didn't need it before he married that hussy and Audra didn't need it before she popped out five-pound triplets seven months after her wedding then I sure as hell don't need it to give a lonely kid a home."

"Oh . . . Nicky," said his mother affectionately. "You rescued her once. It's already more than anyone expected."

"It's more than that, Mom. I want to help her, I want to give her the home she deserves, but this is also about me, and how I feel when I spend time with her. I know I fight the good fight when I'm in the lab or in the field, but . . . that's what it is. It's fighting – you guys know that as well as anyone. For me to do my job someone has to go wrong somewhere. My job is to pick up the pieces of a mess someone else left behind. But when I get to spend time with Cassie, it's different – it's not cleanup, it's not fixing something that was broken, it's . . . ." Shaking his head, he looked up at his parents. "I don't know how to describe it. It's like Cassie makes me whole. She fills a void I didn't know I had. I get so much out of spending time with her . . . and if by giving her a home and a family of her own again I can give a little of that back to her, and help her heal after her family died, then we're both getting something out of it."

Bill gazed at his son for a long moment. "I think we lost, Jillian."

Nick smirked at his father. "You didn't have a chance in the first place, Cisco."

She sighed. "If this is what you really want, Nick, then of course you have our blessing. Is there anything we can do for you – anything you need help with to move the process along?"

"I'm going to need a lawyer, and some references. I'm gonna call the girls later on today," he said, referring to his sisters.

"Well, I can sure give you a name. Let me do some looking, and we'll talk when your mother and I get back to Dallas." Bill then looked at Jillian. "He's going to need that other thing, too, Jilly."

"What other thing?" asked Nick, creasing his brow.

"We thought we were coming here to meet your future bride," explained his mother, reaching into her purse. "But if you're going to have a daughter, you're going to need a house." She handed her son an envelope.

Nick peered inside, and then looked up with an alarmed expression at his parents. "This is a hundred thousand dollars," he whispered in awe.

"Your brother and your sisters each got money from us to buy a house," explained Bill.

"This much?" asked Nick dubiously.

"No, not that much. But we put away as much for them as we did for you, and since you haven't gotten married . . . it grew."

"But it works out well this way. You'll be able to put a sizeable down payment on a nice house, so you can still maintain the payment on your income."

Nick gave his mother a wry look. "I'm not _destitute_, Mother."

"But you only have one income, Nicky, and raising children is not free. You're going to need a will and more life insurance, and some kind of disability insurance, if the city doesn't already provide it to you-"

"Not a bad idea to have extra," put in Bill.

"Yes, and make sure when everything is said and done to cover Cassie, as well – you know, on your life insurance policy, and your medical policy, and make sure that you establish a guardian for her."

"Mom, nothin's gonna-" Nick stopped himself. The fact of the matter was that things had already happened to him, and as unlikely as it was that something _else_ would happen, his job did put him in the path of dangerous people and he did carry a gun. He looked down at the table for a moment, and then swallowed, looking at both of his parents. "I'll make sure."

"It could be us, you know."

Nick met his father's gaze. "You'd take Cassie if something happened to me?"

His mother chuckled. "Oh, Nicky . . . really. Any child of yours – whether by the traditional method or by adoption – is our grandchild."

He smiled. "That's good to know."

Nick's mother patted his hand. "Well. Let's move forward now. We can take a look at some houses today to get an idea of what you want and need. Then we can make a list of everything you need to get in order."

"And sooner or later, Pancho, we'll want to meet Miss Cassie."

"Sure," replied Nick with a smile, and then spent the next several hours talking about Cassie, her personality and her hobbies, as well as his hopes and fears for her future.

* * *

That evening, which was Monday, Nick tried to get a hold of Audra. By Tuesday morning she had still not returned his phone call, so when he got home from work he made himself a pot of coffee and sat down in front of his computer to chat with her while she started her day at work.

ninny415: Audra  
ninny415: r u there?

audra.stokes: Good morning, Ninny! How was work?

ninny415: let's say i took more than one shower

audra.stokes: With lemons?

ninny415: fortunately no lemons  
ninny415: you got a sec for your baby brother, dadra?

audra.stokes: You are forty years old and have typing skills. Don't call me Dadra.  
audra.stokes: And yes I do have a "sec."

ninny415: don't whine. it's not becoming of an elderly accounting geek.

audra.stokes: What do you want, Sicky Nicky?

ninny415: ha ha ha. i need some help.

audra.stokes: What did you do?

ninny415: nothing – it's what i'm gonna do.

audra.stokes: Are you OK, Nicky? Are you sleeping? Having nightmares again?

ninny415: why do you instantly jump to the box incident?

audra.stokes: Because the box incident scarred you, stupid. Even if everyone else pretends like it didn't happen, I'm not blind and I'm not afraid to say it to your face.

audra.stokes: Not literally, but you know what I mean.

ninny415: thanks for saying it to my face.

audra.stokes: No problem. What are you going to do? I heard Mom and Dad came to visit.

ninny415: they did. they brought me money.

audra.stokes: Why?

ninny415: for a house.

audra.stokes: O. M. G.  
audra.stokes: You're finally getting married!!  
audra.stokes: I am so happy! For me! Mom will finally stop whining about you not being married! About you not giving her any grandchildren! You would think she'd be satisfied – she's got fourteen of them, for cryin' out loud, and I gave her five – that's almost half. Woo-hoo! A sister-in-law I won't be ashamed of!

ninny415: lol audra  
ninny415: u r funny.  
ninny415: i'm not getting married

audra.stokes: Damn.

ninny415: but i am giving mom number fifteen.

audra.stokes: WHAT?!  
audra.stokes: -- Heaving extremely heavy sigh  
audra.stokes: Nicky . . . You dunderhead!  
audra.stokes: You couldn't wait for a raincoat and you got someone knocked up.

ninny415: why do you automatically assume i did something that irresponsible?

audra.stokes: Because you are a spoiled little boy who always gets his way.

ninny415: am not  
ninny415: and i didn't get anyone pregnant

audra.stokes: Yes, you are, and you'll have to explain number fifteen without a baby.

ninny415: i'm going to adopt Cassie

audra.stokes: -- stunned.  
audra.stokes: Ninny!  
audra.stokes: You can not drop a bomb like this on me at work!

ninny415: how is your original assumption that i got someone pregnant less of a bomb?

audra.stokes: Shut up.  
audra.stokes: -- stunned.  
audra.stokes: What do you need from me?

ninny415: a reference for my application

audra.stokes: Done.

ninny415: can you come meet her?

audra.stokes: Oh, Ninny…

ninny415: please  
ninny415: mom and dad waved their hands and gave me their magic blessing  
ninny415: but i want someone to see how special she is

audra.stokes: To understand why you have to do this.

ninny415: yeah

audra.stokes: All right. I'll plead family emergency.

ninny415: Thanks, Audra.

audra.stokes: You know I'd do anything for you, Nick. I wish you would ask more often.

ninny415: when i have an 11 year old i'll probably need to.

audra.stokes: This'll be hard for Billy, you know.

ninny415: not my fault. he shouldn't have married a hussy who didn't want kids.

audra.stokes: doesn't wear her ring most of the time

ninny415: doesn't act like she's married

audra.stokes: Even if they did have a kid I'd always doubt it was Billy's.

ninny415: billy wouldn't

audra.stokes: Sad but true.  
audra.stokes: Listen little brother – I have a meeting in five. I'll call you when I have a flight.

ninny415: ok. see you soon dadra.

audra.stokes: Watch it, Sicky Nicky!

* * *

A strong, dark knuckle rapping on wood alerted Elizabeth Halles to the presence of Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes. They stood expectantly at her door, waiting to be invited into her office.

"Hey," she said in greeting as she looked up. "C'mon in and have a seat." She reached for a stack of papers to her left and fanned them out in front of her on the desk. "You guys ready to put another one away?"

They took seats in her visitor's chairs. "I am – 'specially this creep," said Warrick, rubbing his eyes.

"Long shift?" asked Elizabeth sympathetically.

"Double," replied Nick, looking at his partner. "Nothin' new. But at least I get to go home and sleep. Warrick's got a honey-do list waitin' for him."

Elizabeth smiled warmly at Warrick. "Ahh, love."

Smirking at Elizabeth, he replied, "What my smart-assed friend over here doesn't realize is that pretty soon, there won't be any goin' home to sleep for him, either."

She put her chin in her hand and turned her smile to Nick. "Ah. Love?"

Nick shook his head. "Not like that," he said. "Hey – you remember Cassie McBride, right?"

"Sure. Sweet kid. I was thinking about her yesterday; she never called me. I hope she's all right."

"She's good," said Nick with a nod and a secret smile. "If you want to talk to her, I can hook you up."

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow. "Oh – you've been in contact with her?"

Nick nodded. "Quite a bit, in fact." He stole a glance at Warrick, who was grinning at him.

Warrick chuckled when he caught Nick's eye. "Oh, spill it, Nicky – you know you want to."

Nick looked up at Elizabeth almost shyly. "I'll be filing a petition today for guardianship of Cassie."

Elizabeth smiled, truly pleased. "Really?" He nodded in confirmation. "Wow, Stokes. I knew there was a softie in there somewhere."

"Yeah, he's a big pile of goo," teased Warrick. Nick smacked his shoulder for his trouble.

"Will you be formally adopting her?" asked Elizabeth.

Again, Nick nodded in affirmation, and when Elizabeth congratulated him, his cheeks took on a pink hue. Just yesterday, the attorney to which his father had referred him had handed him the papers to sign and return to him, and he had his copy sitting on the passenger seat of his truck. The originals were in the care of David Martin, waiting for a stamp of approval. Realistically, Nick knew it would take much more than a mere stamp, but this fact didn't stop him from being happier than he'd ever been. The blush and the goofy grin stuck to his face even as they moved on to discuss the stalker whose criminal trial would start the following day.

When their discussion was over, Warrick left to go home to Tina, but Nick lagged behind a moment. "I'm going out to visit Cassie tonight. We'll probably just have dinner and maybe find a park, but if you want to come along . . . ."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to blush; she was touched. "Oh – I don't want to intrude on your time," she said.

He shook his head. "It's not an intrusion. She'd love to see you."

"You think so?" Nick smiled when he nodded. "I'd really like that," she replied. "Is she really all right?"

"She's getting better, slowly but surely," he answered. "She smiles a lot more now."

"Thanks to you, I assume?" she teased with a smile.

"Maybe." His blush deepened. "Why don't you meet me at the lab at about five and we'll go together?"

"Sure," she replied. "Thanks for inviting me – I'll look forward to it."

"No problem. Thanks for meeting with Warrick and me early, by the way." It was barely eight AM.

She shrugged. "I'm here anyway, may as well make life easier for you guys."

He smiled at her and in his fatigue didn't realize that when he reached out to touch her arm, he let his hand slip down to her elbow and then squeeze gently. "Thanks – I guess I'll see you tonight."

Goosebumps tickling her skin, she smiled back and said, "Sure."

* * *

Most often when Nick went to Emily's house in Blue Diamond to visit Cassie over the dinner hour, he bought a picnic with him. Early on they'd just sit outside, sometimes on top of the cab of Nick's truck, which Cassie loved. In the last few weeks Emily had actually invited him to stay and eat with them. Nick had been touched, but discovered that Emily was a horrid cook.

He was discussing this fact with Elizabeth in the truck on their way out there. She laughed at him, and then said, "I don't suppose it matters much to the kids, though. At least they know they're going to eat."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Emily says she usually gets the worst of the worst cases – probably because she's so tough. I mean, I'd take my softie of a mom any day over Emily, but I think most of those kids need a firmer hand."

"Your mom was a softie?" she inquired, squinting at him from the passenger seat.

"Yeah – 'specially on me."

"And how many little Stokeses were there?"

"Seven," he replied. "Two sets of triplets, plus me."

Elizabeth laughed at him. "You _must_ be her baby – no mom with seven kids is a softie 'till the last one, when she's sick of them all."

"I've been described as a mamma's boy," he admitted unabashed. "Usually by my brother."

"Ah – and big brother must be _dad's_ favorite," she assumed.

Nick smiled over at her. "And now that you've tapped into where most of my deeply-seeded childhood issues lay – hey! Look at that, we're here."

"Are we gonna take this kid somewhere for a decent meal, Stokes?"

"Yeah, let's." He ambled out of the truck and led Elizabeth to the house. Before he was able to reach the steps, Cassie stormed out, her baseball glove in hand.

She stood in front of Nick and crossed her arms. "Susan keeps taking my baseball glove!" She knew she sounded like a tattle-tale, but she needed to vent to someone who would show that he cared, even if he couldn't do anything about it. "It's stupid; she doesn't even _like_ pink."

Nick put his hand on her head, smoothing back her hair. "I'm sorry," he said, looking up as Emily exited the house.

"Look, Cassie – we've talked about this," she said tiredly. "She's jealous, okay? Give her a break. If you don't want her to take the glove, put it somewhere she won't find it."

"I shouldn't have to hide things in my own room."

"You're right," said Emily. Then her eye caught Elizabeth standing by Nick's truck in her designer suit, looking on curiously. She tilted her head in Elizabeth 's direction and then flicked her eyes toward Nick. "Your girlfriend, Stokes?"

His eyes widened slightly. "What? Oh . . . no. Sorry – Emily, this is Elizabeth Halles. She's the Clark County DA." Elizabeth and Emily waved politely at each other. As Nick turned slightly, Cassie saw Elizabeth walking toward them, and promptly forgot about the stealing of her baseball glove.

"Elizabeth!" She ran over, beaming at the attorney. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Cassie," she said with a smile. "I just came to visit. This time I really _do_ want to know how you're doing."

She smiled shyly. "I'm good," she replied. "I'm sorry I never called – I didn't have any more questions about the trial."

"Well, that's okay. I had a meeting with Nick this morning and he invited me to come with him tonight – I hope it's okay that I'm here."

"Yeah," replied Cassie. "I'm glad you came."

"What are you doin', Stokes?" asked Emily. Elizabeth was a little taken aback by her brashness, but it didn't seem to bother Nick.

"We're going out. Have her back by nine."

"Fine," replied Emily. "Cassie, be good." She went back into the house.

"Well, she's a ray of sunshine," commented Elizabeth dryly once the door had closed. Cassie giggled at her, and Nick gestured toward his truck.

"The chariot awaits, ladies," he said, and they were off.

Nick and Cassie sat next to each other at the restaurant, so Elizabeth was able to watch the two of them as they interacted. Cassie talked about her science project and other goings-on at school and at home, with Nick chiming in occasionally. She smiled at the picture they painted – he obviously adored her, and she was looking less like a victim and more like the eleven year old she was.

"So, Cassie," said Elizabeth as the waitress set her iced tea down in front of her, "I heard some very excellent news from Nick this morning."

Cassie made a face at Nick. "What did you tell her?" she asked quietly, bouncing as she kicked her feet back and forth in the seat next to his.

"I told her about the adoption," he replied in a stage whisper. "My lawyer Mr. Martin filed the paperwork this morning to get the process going."

Elizabeth smiled at them. "How does that process work, anyway?" she asked, tilting her head at Nick.

"How come you don't know?" asked Cassie. "You're a lawyer, too."

"Right, but I specialize in criminal law. I'm guessing that Mr. Martin specializes in family law, which is very different – family law is all about things like divorces and child custody."

"And adoptions!" declared Cassie with a smile.

"Right," said Elizabeth with a wink, turning back to Nick.

"It's funny you'd ask," he said matter-of-factly, "because I was about to explain it to Cassie. First, they do a background check on you – which I passed with flying colors, of course – and then you file a petition for guardianship, which is what Mr. Martin filed today. Then your case gets assigned a social worker who interviews you – and she'll want to interview _you,_ too." He pointed at Cassie. "Then they check your references and do a home study."

"What's a home study?" Cassie was kicking her feet again, sipping her soda.

"They just come to your house and make sure it's safe, and that you have room. I think it matters more for people who are adopting babies."

"So after that," said Elizabeth, sipping her tea with a thoughtful expression, "then Cassie can move in, and they must do a second home study?" Nick nodded. "Then you can apply for adoption."

"Right," he confirmed.

"How long is this going to take?" asked Cassie, looking up at Nick curiously.

"Not long," he replied. "Four or five years."

Cassie just rolled her eyes. "It does _not_."

"Realistically," began Elizabeth, shaking her head at the smiling Nick, "the first part will probably take at least a month. It's impossible to get a social worker on the calendar for anything."

Their dinner arrived with the bubbly waitress then, and she set plates down in front of Nick, Cassie, and Elizabeth with a flourish, asking if they needed anything. The three declined, and she went away, and almost simultaneously Nick and Cassie picked up their utensils to eat. Their elbows collided.

"Ow," said Cassie with a laugh, feeling silly.

"You got sharp elbows, girl," remarked Nick, rubbing his.

Elizabeth laughed at them. "Cassie, why don't you come over here." She patted the empty spot to her left, and when Cassie rose to move seats, Elizabeth pulled her plate across the table. "Everyone's elbows intact?" she asked once Cassie was seated again.

"Yeah," Cassie giggled, and then picked up her fork to start on her macaroni and cheese. Nick was amused to note that when Elizabeth began to eat her salad, she also used her left hand.

On the way back to the truck after their dinner, Nick checked his watch. "We have about an hour and a half, Cass. D'you want to do something or do you just want to go home?"

"Let's do something," she said, skipping next to him. "I brought my glove; we could go to a park."

"Hey, if we're going to go to a park," said Elizabeth, "would you mind stopping by my house and picking up my dog? I'm only about five minutes away, and there's a park nearby."

"You have a dog?" asked Nick, pausing to unlock the truck.

"Yeah . . . Ginger. She's a good dog."

Nick shrugged. "I don't see why not. Cass, what do you think?"

She readily agreed, and Elizabeth directed Nick to where her house lay tucked into a quiet neighborhood. Nick parked his truck in her driveway, and she invited them in. Cautioning them to stay in the entryway until she retrieved Ginger, she walked toward the kitchen and turned a corner.

Nick looked around a little. The following day was Friday and he expected Audra; they were going to look at some houses together and then on Saturday, take Cassie to a movie. He hadn't ever been terribly choosy about where he lived. When he first moved to Las Vegas he took a short term lease on the first apartment he'd looked at, and then bought the first clean, reasonably-priced townhouse he came across. After selling that to the first bidder following his ordeal with Nigel Crane, he had little choice but to find a new place quickly, and he took a lease on the townhouse he lived in now. At the time he figured he'd wait for the right place to come along, but nothing landed in his lap and as long as he had someplace to live where he could be reasonably sure he wouldn't have to brandish his service weapon to stay safe, he didn't really need to go looking.

But now he had an ungodly amount of money from his parents and according to Audra's calculations, he could afford to buy a really nice home. She had told him to think about what he wanted, but he knew he'd only really need one thing – a pool.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but Cassie was still petrified of water. In order to wash her hair, Emily had Cassie lay face-up on the kitchen counter, her head hanging in the sink, and she used an old oversized plastic cup to rinse the shampoo out of Cassie's long tresses. She took either very shallow baths, or turned the showerhead so that it sprayed the floor of the shower. She had told him in the hospital that she used to love going to the lake, and even if she'd never look at that particular lake the same way, he hoped that maybe one day she'd swim again.

He was wondering if Elizabeth had a pool when he heard the unmistakable clack of dog nails on her tiled floor. Cassie laughed and gasped, "Oh my gosh! Your dog is _huge_!"

Elizabeth smiled as she reached them with the dog. "This is Ginger," she said, pulling back hard on the dog's leash as she moved forward eagerly to meet the new people. "She's a Great Dane/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix."

Impressed that the dog neither jumped nor barked, Nick put his hand out for her as Cassie tucked into his side. The animal had obviously gotten her name from its lovely ginger coat. When she had sniffed Nick's hand, she inched closer as he knelt to scratch behind her ears and pet her head.

Elizabeth knelt next to Cassie and took her hand. "It's okay," she said in a low, soothing tone. "I know she's really big, but she's sweet. Here, just let her sniff you – it's how dogs say hello." She held Cassie's hand out to Ginger, who eagerly switched her attention from Nick to Cassie. She giggled as Ginger's wet nose tickled her, and when the big dog sat patiently down Cassie petted her head carefully.

"She's nice," said the little girl as she became more comfortable.

Nick stood and observed the two. "She's as big as you are," he laughed.

Elizabeth rubbed Ginger's head. "You ready to go outside, Ginger?" The dog stood excitedly and wagged her tail, panting. Elizabeth looked up at Nick. "We could walk to the park – it's only about a block away." She turned back to the excited animal, who was pulling on her leash.

For a moment, Nick said nothing. Witnessing Elizabeth at home with her beloved dog had thrown her into a different light completely, and without realizing it he had noticed some things about her that he hadn't in all of his years teaming up with her to prosecute the criminals he had had a hand in apprehending. To begin with, he'd never seen her smile the way she did when she was introducing Cassie to Ginger. He'd also never seen the gentleness in her green eyes or noticed how well the diamond studs she always wore suited her perfectly proportionate ears.

"Stokes?"

"Sorry?" Caught, he raised an eyebrow and tried to feign innocence.

"Do you want to walk to the park?"

Grateful that Elizabeth had not seemed to notice that he was staring at her ear, he quickly agreed. Elizabeth changed her shoes and grabbed a tennis ball before they left the house. On the way to the street, Nick opened his truck and extracted his and Cassie's gloves and a baseball. Ginger, who knew exactly where they were going, led them to the park.

Cassie had become fascinated with the giant animal and asked to hold the leash. "Oh – that's probably not a good idea," replied Elizabeth apologetically. "She really is as big as you - as a matter of fact, she probably weighs more than you do - and she's really strong. If something comes along that she wants to chase, she'll probably knock you over."

"Oh." Her disappointment was obvious.

"But once we get there, she'll stay in the park. She likes to fetch – that's why I grabbed a tennis ball. Do you want to throw for her?"

"Sure," said Cassie, mollified. Elizabeth handed her the tennis ball. A moment or two later and they were in the little park, which was owned and managed by the homeowners' association that the neighborhood was a part of. Because it was a private park it was a little more green than most others, but it was still quite dry and Ginger tired quickly. She laid down underneath a picnic table for shade and waited for her master to call her.

Cassie had had enough of throwing the tennis ball for Ginger, so instead of playing catch with Nick she asked if she could play on the swings. Nick agreed, and he and Elizabeth sat down at Ginger's picnic table.

"She really is doing well," commented Elizabeth, smiling at her as she pumped her legs.

"She's still got some struggles," he said.

Elizabeth smirked at him. "Oh, but that's where you come in, Stokes," she said, but her tone was not mocking. "She's really lucky to have someone like you in her life."

Nick smiled, and if his cheeks hadn't already been pink from the heat, she would have noticed their color change. "Thanks." His eyes lingered on hers a moment. When she looked away, uncomfortable, he asked, "Hey – do you mind if I ask you . . . do you have a pool?"

"A pool?" repeated Elizabeth, turning back to him. "No, I don't. I have Ginger; she needs shade and room to chase reptiles. Why do you ask?"

"I'm lookin' to buy a house, and I'd like to have a pool," he answered.

She smiled. "For Cassie? That's sweet. But no, I don't have one. A lot of my neighbors do though – and actually, the house right next door to mine's up for sale. I don't know what kind of house you're looking at, but it's a good neighborhood and they've been trying to unload that house for at least six months, so you'd probably get a steal on it."

"I'm looking at some houses tomorrow," he said. "Maybe I'll have my realtor put that one on her list." He turned to look at Elizabeth again, who was watching Cassie as she swung. Those ears again . . . and was it his imagination, or did her dark hair glint red in the fading sun?

He heard Cassie squeal his name then, and turned back to her in time to watch her jump off the swing and take off at a run toward him.

"I'm thirsty," she complained when she got there.

Elizabeth guessed she was probably bored, too, and offered a solution to both problems. "Why don't we go back to my house?" she suggested. "I'm sure I have something cold to drink there, and you can peer over the fence at the neighbor's house."

Both Nick and Cassie, ever easy-going, agreed, and Ginger rose to follow them back to the house. Elizabeth chatted about the neighborhood on the short walk and when they reached the house, Cassie raced Ginger up the driveway. Once inside, Elizabeth engaged Cassie in the making of a smoothie, and Nick peeked out the kitchen window to look at the house next door. As a matter of fact, it did have a pool, although he imagined the house itself was quite a bit bigger than he'd need.

The blender whirring pulled his attention away from the window, and he turned to watch Cassie and Elizabeth. His observations of her that evening had him a little disquieted. It wasn't that he had never noticed that she was beautiful before – he _had_ – but she was the DA and he was a criminalist, and their relationship had, for lack of a better term, a higher purpose. He really shouldn't start thinking of her as a woman now.

Cassie turned to him with a smile and held out a glass. "Do you want some?" she asked.

He returned her smile and accepted the glass, thanking her as he sipped the blended fruit and ice. He checked his watch and noted with some disappointment that they should get going. "Miss Emily's softened on me but she'll still string me up if you're not back by nine."

"All right," said Cassie and as she finished her drink Elizabeth put water in Ginger's bowl.

Nick drove Elizabeth back to the lab so she could retrieve her car. Cassie hugged her tight when she exited the truck and the little girl had taken her seat in the front. "It was really nice to see you again, Cassie," said Elizabeth. "I hope this won't be the last time."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It was fun, and I really like Ginger."

"Well Ginger liked you, so you'll just have to come back to play with her."

"That sounds good," said Cassie, yawning.

Elizabeth smiled affectionately at her, and then turned to Nick. "I'll see you Monday," she said, referring to the day he was expected to testify.

"I'll be there with bells on," he replied. "Have a good night, Elizabeth."

When she nodded to him, a lock of her hair, which was always tied back in a French roll, fell to caress her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear and replied, "You too," and forced herself to add, "Stokes," with a shy smile.

He watched as she closed the passenger door carefully and walked to her own car, unlocking it and sliding in fluidly. The sun was still visible, and it dimly lit the lab's parking lot, throwing light at everything from its odd angle in the sky. As the light lit Elizabeth's Lexus it filtered through the windows and cast soft shadows on the interior of the car, and the woman sitting there. There was no doubt about it – that hair was red.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	10. Chapter 10

Audra flew to Las Vegas the following day. Her flight was supposed to have landed well before Nick's shift began, but it was delayed, so Nick directed her to the lab to pick up his spare house key. When she walked in she recognized Catherine from the last trip she made to see her little brother, which was when he was in the hospital recovering from dehydration and ant bites. She approached.

"Hello . . . it's Catherine, right?" she asked, waving a hand. "Catherine Wilson?"

Catherine turned to face her. "Willows," she corrected. "Can I help you?"

"I don't know if you remember me at all, but we met when my brother was in the hospital."

Catherine knew the lady looked familiar, but couldn't place her. "I'm sorry . . . what's your brother's name?"

Audra blushed a little. "Sorry – you probably meet a lot of people in the hospital. I'm Audra Stokes. My brother is Nick."

"Oh, right – I do remember you," replied Catherine with a smile. "I didn't know Nick was expecting anyone. Let me see if he's available." She invited Audra to follow her down the hall.

Nick's head was buried under the hood of a Grand Am in the garage when Catherine and Audra walked in. Catherine called his name, and he looked up. Wearing coveralls and grease stains on his cheeks, he smiled at them.

"Hey!" he called. "My two favorite redheads." He removed his work gloves and walked over to Audra.

Greg followed him, observing the smile on the face of the redhead he didn't know. "Who's the hot one, Nick?" Catching the withering look Catherine shot him, he made an attempt at correcting himself. "I mean . . . the tall . . . er . . . hot one."

He received another, more murderous look from Nick. "She's my _sister_," he spat.

Greg smiled. "Ma'am, you are way too good-looking to be related to _this_ guy. It's nice to meet you." Greg was just as filthy as Nick, so instead of offering his hand, he nodded politely. "My name is Greg, and if you need someone to show you around the city, I'm available any time you are."

"Well Greg, my name is Audra, and that's sweet, but I think Nicky'll keep me plenty busy," she replied.

"The offer's open," he replied as he returned to the Grand Am.

Audra shook her head at him as he retreated, and then turned back to her brother. "Hi, Nicky," she said cheerfully, but otherwise didn't move.

Nick smirked. "Too afraid of a little dirt to give your baby brother a hug?"

"No, I just don't want any creepy I-see-dead-people cooties from you," she replied.

"Well I don't want any accounting nerd cooties from _you_," he shot back. "Catherine, have you met my sister?"

"We met when you were in the hospital," replied Catherine. "Surprise visit?"

"No . . . my flight was _very_ delayed," replied Audra, rolling her eyes.

"Gotta love airline service these days," sympathized Catherine.

Nick turned to Audra. "Listen, I need to be here right now – Sanders needs my guidance, has trouble with hoods." He threw a smirk behind him in Greg's direction and hoped the younger CSI had heard. "Catherine, can you take Miss Audra to my locker and give her my extra house key? It's taped to the inside on the left."

Catherine smirked and shook her head. "Can't tear you boys away from your cars, huh?"

"Not even to take his big sister down the hall," Audra echoed her sentiments, shaking her own head. "Shameful, Nicholas."

Nick merely blew her a kiss and turned back to the garage. Catherine smiled and gestured in the direction of the locker room. "You oughtta tell on him," she joked.

Audra chuckled. "Nah. Cars were the only thing he and Billy ever agreed on – I'm sure there's some kind of nostalgia involved in working on a car with another guy . . . although I'm gonna guess he and that Sanders fella aren't trying to make it run."

"No, they're not," Catherine replied, smiling. They reached the locker room and she pointed out Nick's locker to Audra, who opened it with the combination Nick had given her earlier. Once she had the key and locked the lock, Catherine walked her back to the lobby.

"Catherine, may I ask you something?" she asked as they walked.

"About Nick? Sure."

Audra pondered a moment before she asked simply, "Is he okay? You know, after the . . . the whole box incident?"

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Officially . . . he's fine. No performance issues, no lapses in judgment . . . not showing any signs of depression or PTSD . . . I'd say he's quote-unquote normal. He's still Pancho the Crimefighter," she smirked.

Audra smiled back, remembering their conversation in the waiting room at Desert Palms. "And . . . unofficially?"

"He's not the happy-go-lucky Nick he used to be," said Catherine, "although this job changes you whether you've been kidnapped and buried alive or not. But, off the record, he still has trouble sleeping. You can see it in his eyes. Things bother him now more than they used to. I think he's haunted, but honestly, Audra . . . I think he always will be, in some ways." She paused to think a moment, and then added, "Although, the last few months, he's been really cheerful. He's got his ways of coping – some must work better than others."

Audra knew exactly what his coping mechanism had been in the last handful of months, but didn't know how much Catherine knew, so she kept quiet. "Well, hopefully I'll hear more about it in the next day or so." She turned toward the door and then stopped, turning back. "Hey – thanks for keeping an eye on him."

"My pleasure," replied Catherine with a smile. "See you later."

* * *

Holly Hunter, Nick's realtor, had a list of eight houses for him to look at, but because of Audra's delayed flight the list had been cut to five. When Nick appeared at her office that Saturday morning looking tired with who she assumed was his wife in tow, he handed her an address and said he wanted to add it, if it was in his price range.

"It is, but it's on the higher end," she replied once she had pulled up the listing. "Although it's been on the market for several months, so it's possible they'll accept something lower. I'll need a moment to call the realtor to see if we can get in today, unless you can do it tomorrow."

"I'm going home tomorrow," said Audra, her accent considerably thicker than her brother's. "If we can get in to see it today, that would really be best."

"All right," she conceded. "I'll try to get a hold of the realtor once we get to the first house." They piled into her Expedition and set off for the first house. Once there, she began making phone calls as Nick and Audra looked around.

"You have to start looking at things differently," said his big sister as she began walking through the house. "Think about Cassie living here. She doesn't need a castle, but she does need someplace safe, with enough room – and she's not going to be eleven forever, you know. She's on the cusp of becoming a teenager."

Nick chuckled. "I know." They were looking at one of the bedrooms, and he tried to imagine Cassie in it. As a child, Nick had to share a room with his brother, and his sisters all bunked together – three in one room, two in another. He didn't really remember much about his sisters' rooms, as there was nothing contained therein to draw his interest, but he did remember that they were bright. The room he was standing in was decidedly not bright. He rumpled his brow and exited the room, looking around at the rest of the house. "It's too dark," he said.

"Good enough for me," replied Audra. "It's off the list."

When they arrived at the next house, Nick didn't even want to go inside. "Sorry," he said to Holly from the passenger seat. "I've been in this house."

She looked confused. "Oh," she said, taking her planner in hand and double-checking. "I'm sorry; I thought you hadn't looked at anything yet."

"I haven't," he agreed. "I've _worked_ in this house."

Holly hoisted an eyebrow. "Worked?"

"Double homicide."

"Oh." Holly looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I see. Oh, that's right – you're the crime scene guy. Well . . . let me try that realtor again." She couldn't get her phone in her hand fast enough.

Nick smirked and turned to consider the neighborhood. It really was a shame, because the house was beautiful and the street was quiet, but he knew that every time he'd walk into that house, he'd see a man with a baseball bat laying face-down on the kitchen floor in a pool of his own blood, and in the master bedroom, his cheating wife with a hole in her head.

"We can head over to that house on Walnut Street," said Holly, hanging up her phone. "Apparently there's no lockbox, but I guess if we get there before the realtor does, we can ask the neighbor to let us in."

Nick smiled. "Perfect," he replied.

Unfortunately, the realtor arrived first and was waiting for them when they pulled into the driveway. Disinclined to speak with him as he was not a female district attorney with auburn hair and green eyes, Nick marched up the stairs to investigate the upper floor while Audra and Holly dealt with the realtor.

To his right was the master bedroom, which he entered, looked cursorily around, approved of, and exited. He found the bathroom, which would need a coat of paint (it was pink). The first bedroom to the left of the stairs, which faced the street, was a little on the small side, which he found disappointing. The bedroom to the right, however, was far more promising.

This was a room he could see Cassie in. It occurred to him just then that he'd have to buy furniture for her, which he knew would be an expensive prospect, but he was already thinking that the corner between the closet and the window would be a good place to put a desk for her. The room was bright and open and had a view of the back yard, which he still needed to investigate.

Heading downstairs, he made a pass through the kitchen to make sure the appliances all worked properly, and then stepped outside. There was nothing to the backyard except the patio and the pool, which was a moderate size. On the shallow end, there was a square whirlpool from which the pool extended and became wider as the water became deeper. The patio was covered by an overhang that extended from the house about eight feet and was supported by four square pillars, providing a good amount of shade. Everything appeared to be clean and well-maintained.

Audra stepped out onto the patio, Holly in tow. "What are you thinkin', Nicky?"

"It's nice," he replied. "What do you think?"

She agreed with him. "You could do much worse."

"They just dropped the price by thirty grand this morning," said Holly in a low tone. "For this neighborhood, it's a steal."

"I'll take it," he said.

Holly laughed, turning to Audra. "I assume you want to look at the other houses first?"

"Doesn't matter what I think," replied Audra. "I won't be living here."

Again, Holly became disquieted. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize you wouldn't be making this purchase together."

Nick smirked at Holly. "Miss Audra's my sister," he said. "Let's make the guy an offer – I'm done."

"Oh. Are you sure?" asked Holly.

"Yep," said Nick. "Easy morning's work for you."

Holly shrugged. "All right. Let me talk to the realtor and we'll get things settled." She headed back into the house, leaving Audra and Nick on the patio in the back yard.

"So, you'll have to furnish it, but it's a really nice place. If it's been on the market this long, they probably want to close as soon as possible. Depending on when you can get out of your lease-"

Audra was interrupted by a monstrous bark coming from the yard to the left of the house. Nick peered over the fence to see Ginger, who'd just been let out, chase what looked like a little gecko across the patio. He looked up to see Elizabeth in the frame of the patio door and waved with a smile. She waved back; Audra joined him at the fence.

"Holy Hannah, that's a big dog," she cried. Audra herself was not a fan of dogs, but had always had one – first, because of her brothers, and then because Sam was an animal lover. "Is it really necessary to have a dog that big? I mean, look at the thing. It's practically a horse."

"She's some kind of Great Dane mix," commented her brother, watching Ginger run around what was clearly her yard. This was nothing that anyone who'd ever seen a Great Dane couldn't extrapolate, so Audra thought nothing of the comment, and continued to watch the dog.

"So we're gonna go pick up Cassie before lunch, right?"

"Yeah, if they ever get done yappin' in there."

"It's only been ten minutes, Ninny. Hold your horses."

"Did she just call you Ninny?"

He cringed at the voice, throwing his sister a murderous look, which she chose to ignore as she turned around to see a woman in a flirty black skirt and casual white blouse cross the patio toward where they stood at the fence. Audra looked from the woman to her brother and grinned – his cheeks had turned pink.

"Yes, she did," replied Nick. "Thanks, Dadra."

"Oh, introduce me," she said, laughing, "since you obviously know each other."

Nick obliged. "Elizabeth Halles, this is Audra Stokes, my sister. Audra, this is Elizabeth Halles. She'll be my new neighbor."

"Really?" said Elizabeth with a smile as she shook Audra's hand. "You work fast. Did you even look at anything else?"

"One," replied Audra for him. "It was too dark, as I recall."

"You didn't like it either," he retorted in defense of himself.

"So how do you know your new neighbor – and her dog, apparently?"

"We work together," replied her brother.

"Fellow Crimefighter?" joked Audra.

Elizabeth chuckled. "In a way, I suppose. I'm the Clark County District Attorney."

If it were possible, Audra brightened even further. "Really? Our mother was the DA in Houston County for over 20 years."

"That's an impressive run," said Elizabeth. "I'm only on my first term, and I hope to be as fortunate as she was. You never told me your mom was an attorney, Stokes."

Her tone was teasing, lilting enough to make him wish that Audra weren't there. He shook his head and muttered that he didn't think it had come up. After a slightly awkward pause, he asked, "So . . . what are you doing home in the middle of the day?"

She grinned. "It's Saturday, Stokes."

"Oh, right," he said sheepishly as Audra tried to hide a snigger. "Well, I get easily confused." His sister outright laughed, so he gave her shoulder a gentle shove and clarified, "About which day it is!"

"Yeah . . . sure, Nick."

Elizabeth, who had managed to not laugh at Nick but had not been able to suppress her smile, decided to change the subject. "Anyway . . . I was just on my way to meet a girlfriend for lunch and had to let Ginger out before I left."

"She's got one hell of a bark," remarked Audra, still grinning, as she looked in the direction of Elizabeth's yard.

"She must've seen some kind of lizard," said Elizabeth, her tone even and light, but her eyes were locked on Nick, who, in his embarrassment, was looking over the back of the house. Most often when she saw him, he was wearing a suit, but today he was dressed in a pair of nicely fitting dark blue jeans and a red button down shirt. His casual attire and relaxed demeanor with his sister had her thinking that it would be really nice to have him for a neighbor. Not that the Andersens, who were now apparently selling their house to Nick, hadn't been perfectly pleasant, as afraid of her dog as they were, but she would welcome the addition of someone who knew her, who knew what her job was all about, to the gaggle of stay at home mothers who thought she should be married by now and their husbands who wanted to talk politics and secretly assumed she was gay.

Holly stepped out onto the patio then, brimming with the good news that the offer had been accepted and they could close as soon as feasibly possible. Before she could get into details about inspections, Elizabeth excused herself. "I need to get Ginger in the house and meet my friend. But hey – congratulations, and I'll see you soon . . . and it was nice to meet you, Audra." They waved to each other as she entered the house again to pass through and cross the lawn to her own house.

Nick vaguely listened to Holly, preferring instead to watch Elizabeth usher Ginger back inside. In Holly's Expedition on the way back to her office, she promised paperwork by the day's end and constant updates.

Once they had transferred from Holly's vehicle to his, Nick turned the engine over and rolled the windows down to let the air conditioner blow the stale air out of the truck. He then turned to Audra. "I'm waitin', Dadra."

She turned in her seat. "For what, Ninny?"

"For you to tease me."

She couldn't help a slightly wicked grin. "You like that girl."

He laughed and shook his head. "I've worked with her since I moved here," he said, sounding a little confused. "I haven't always liked her."

"Oh, you like everything with a decent set of hooters," she shot back. "Listen, Sicky Nicky . . . I can't explain this for you. As we've discussed many times in the past, love happens when it happens."

"I didn't say I was in l-"

"Fine – _like_ happens when it happens. And as for you waiting for me to tease you . . . I don't know if I can."

"Yes you can," he countered. "Nothin's ever stopped you before."

"I'm serious, Nick," she said, her eyes wide. "You're the baby of the family and I never really expected you to settle down at all. Your head's always been full of pretty redheads, and baseball, and science. Now all of a sudden you're pregnant with an eleven year old, and you like a girl with a career and a house and the ability to cover up her cleavage. It's a lot to take in all at once."

He laughed at her, moving to roll up the windows. He didn't know what to say to her, so he reached across the seat and embraced her.

"I'm proud of you, Nick," she said when he pulled away.

He nodded, looking away to watch the sun-baked parking lot in front of them. "Thanks, Audra."

She slapped his thigh to break the emotional tension in the truck. "Now – take me to my new niece."

He smiled. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Audra had loved Cassie from the moment she laid eyes on her in Emily Patterson's dusty driveway – secretly, Nick had expected nothing less. Audra didn't have five children by accident – had they come to her one at a time, she still would've had a big family. When she went home he'd called his other four sisters and told them about Cassie. These were exhausting, repetitive conversations, particularly when he talked to Lauren, the psychologist, who had extra questions and explanations for his behavior that he didn't really need. He stalled talking to Billy by waiting to call until he knew Billy wasn't available. This strategy was successful for a handful of days.

The Thursday following Audra's departure, however, his luck ran out, and Billy answered the phone.

"Bill Stokes."

Nick cringed. "Hey, Billy . . . it's Nick."

"Hey, Nick!" said his brother. "How's the grunt work going?"

Nick knit his brows together. "The what?"

"The grunt work – you know, the fingerprints and spit and whatnot."

"Oh . . . you're making fun of my job again. Right – that's original."

"Well, I happen to be doing _my_ job at the moment – you always call at the most inconvenient times," said his brother with humor in his voice. "I'm in the courtroom waiting for a proceeding to begin."

"Yeah . . . I know what those look like. Hey, if you just have a couple of minutes, I have some news for you."

"Are you getting married?"

Nick chuckled humorlessly. "No . . . I'm not getting married."

Billy sounded impatient when he replied, "Then what could it possibly be?"

Taking a deep breath, Nick commenced the short-short version of the Cassie story. "I met a little girl working a case not far from here . . . her parents had been murdered-"

"And what, you're adopting her?"

Nick was quiet a moment. "Well . . . yeah, actually."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. Why would I joke about something like that?"

"I don't know. How old is she?"

"She's eleven . . . almost twelve."

Billy paused, for far too long in Nick's opinion. "So . . . you're going to be a dad." There was forced enthusiasm in his voice.

"Yeah," replied Nick, biting his lip. "In a way." He waited nervously for Billy to say something else.

"Well, that's great, Nick. That's . . . really great."

"Thanks, Billy," he replied softly, knowing there was more coming.

"Nick, are you _sure_ you're not gay?"

Nick closed his eyes and pulled his phone away from his ear in disgust – he was so _tired_ of hearing this from his own brother. He vaguely heard phrases like "You're over forty" and "Not married, no girlfriend" and when he put the phone back, it was to hear Billy continue, "Because if you are . . . it's cool, you know? I mean, it'll take some time for Dad to get used to it, but he's getting up there in years-"

"Billy, I am not having this discussion with you."

"I'm just saying-"

Nick decided to change the subject. "Her name is Cassie."

"What?"

"Her name's Cassie. The little girl I'm adopting, her name's Cassie."

"Oh, right. She's eight?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven . . . wow. That's really great. She's probably the only girl you'll ever have in your life. Look, I need to work, okay, because it's ten AM and most people are working right now. But congratulations, Nick – we'll talk more soon." He hung up before Nick could say another word. Growling in anger, Nick chucked his phone onto the couch, off of which it bounced and then landed with a thud on the floor.

He considered calling Audra to vent, but didn't want to talk any more. He went for a run instead. When he got back, he was bright pink with heat and dripping sweat, and stood under a cold shower for fifteen minutes trying to cool off. The run had helped to calm him down, and the icy water had a numbing effect on both his over-heated skin and his anger. He was exhausted by the time he stepped out of the shower, and fell asleep unintentionally on his bed, still wrapped in his wet towel.

At six o'clock he woke to his phone ringing. Shivering and dazed with too much sleep, he answered. "Stokes."

"Pancho, it's your dad."

"Hey Cisco."

"I heard about your phone call to Billy."

"Yeah? Did he tell you what he said to me?"

"No one thinks you're not a man, Pancho," replied Bill in a well-practiced please-stop-having-this-fight-with-Billy tone. "No one thinks you're . . . you know . . . that way. He just thinks you're rubbing it in a little – you gettin' to be a dad to someone."

"One phone call and I'm rubbin' it in? Seriously?"

"C'mon, Pancho . . . you know how much Billy wanted kids."

"It's not my fault that he made a poor choice of wife," replied Nick incredulously. "It's her that doesn't want them – he should dump her and find someone who wants kids."

"It doesn't work that way, Nicholas," said his father, who only ever called his youngest son by his given name if he was annoyed with him. "You're _not_ married; you _don't_ understand. Billy loves Missy."

"I don't think she returns the favor."

"Whatever you may think of her, she's your brother's wife and you'll respect her," said Bill more sharply than he really meant to.

Nick wanted to throw his phone, but years of conditioning made him answer on autopilot with a firmly clenched jaw. "Yes, sir."

"Pancho," said Bill, pleading in his voice, "I know you don't like her, but your persistence in believing that she's somehow doing your brother wrong has got to stop. This has been goin' on for long enough."

Angry with his father, Nick retaliated. "I know what I've seen, sir."

"But you misinterpret things. It's been this way since you started playing baseball, and Nick-" Bill stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. "I don't want to this to go on between you and Billy. You're brothers, for God's sake. You need to let it go."

Nick cleared his throat, clenching his jaw again. "Could you at least say that he was wrong to take his frustration out on me?" He knew he sounded like a little boy pleading for candy, but he couldn't help it.

There was silence on the phone, again for far too long. "Look, Pancho . . . ."

"Never mind."

"It's just that you should've let your mother tell him."

"Yeah . . . I, uh . . . I need to go to work now."

"Work? It's just after six."

Hurt, Nick spit his brother's words back at his father. "Yeah, well . . . lots to do. Lots of fingerprints to dust . . . spit to collect . . . grunt work to do."

Bill sighed. "Pancho . . . ." Nick let the appellation linger in the tension between them. No matter what his father said now, he wouldn't return it. "I guess I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Pancho."

* * *

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hi folks! Short update this time around. Angst follows. I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

The benefit of the occasional disagreements between himself, Billy, and his father was that Nick often went to work with renewed enthusiasm for his job. He and Catherine met Captain Brass at a residence where a woman had finally had enough of her husband and hit him back. Unfortunately, it had been too little, too late, and when the CSIs walked in, the woman's husband was glaring at his very dead wife from their dining room table, claiming self-defense and saying she'd tripped over her own feet coming at him with a kitchen knife.

It took one look from Nick and a confirming one from Catherine to tell that the wound on the back of Mrs. Everett's head did not come from the coffee table with which Mr. Everett had claimed she connected. Brass and Catherine moved to hear Mr. Everett's story while she waited for SuperDave to arrive, and Nick set to work processing the house.

There was little for Catherine to process once the body had gone along with the coroner; Nick had turned his anger into hyper-focus and was almost finished by the time Brass headed back to the police department with another heartbreaking phone call to make. Despite his efforts, however, he had not found the weapon.

"Did you get the bedrooms?" she asked, pulling a pair of latex gloves on.

"Yeah, the whole upstairs," he replied, rising to his knees. "Nothin'." He had been looking underneath the couch with a flashlight; seeing nothing, he looked around the room before rising on his knees to look at Catherine.

"Kitchen?"

"Done. Also nothin'. I got the bathrooms and the dining room, and I'm doing the living room now – you can lend a hand if you want, or you can take a look in the garage."

"Wow, Nicky," remarked Catherine. "You're a speed demon tonight."

"I need the distraction," he replied, dipping to check under an occasional chair.

"Everything all right?" She pulled her Maglite out of her kit and started looking over the fireplace.

"It's fine. I had a disagreement with my dad over my brother – nothing new. The only one I got and I can't get along with him to save my behind."

"I can't relate," replied Catherine, who had no siblings. "There are days I wish I could, and days I'm glad I can't."

"You can have Billy if you ever feel like being empathetic. Son of a bitch insults my work."

"Bastard," she replied with a hoisted eyebrow, putting her ALS to use on the apparently spotless fireplace mantle. "What's he do?"

"Public defender," replied Nick, obvious disgust in his voice. "Dad wanted me to go into law; sometimes I wonder if it'd be better that way." With a sigh, he took a look around the living room from his position on the floor. His eyes landed on the couch again. He had already looked under the cushions, but was getting frustrated because he hadn't found a possible weapon, which they'd need to prosecute Mr. Everett.

"You don't regret your choice, do you, Nick?" asked Catherine, her orange goggles perched on her nose. When he didn't reply, she turned to look at him, concerned. He was pulling the cushions off the couch. "Nick?"

He pulled his flashlight out of his vest and aimed it at the couch. Then he reached into the very back, into the space where the back met the seat. Smirking, he extracted a bloody picture frame. It was heavy, made of decorative metal, and the glass was shattered. He held it up and met Catherine's amused gaze. "No, ma'am," he said, shaking his head a little. "Not today – not ever."

"That's not a photo of Mrs. Everett," she noted.

"Motive and a weapon all wrapped up on one neat little package," Nick replied. "That's a pretty sweet deal."

"Let's see those lawyers try to get around that – once you pull his prints off it."

"They'll try," he said, "but it's pretty hard to dance with a noose around your neck."

"Nice work, Nicky," said Catherine, putting away her ALS.

"Thanks, Cath." His find, plus Catherine's support and praise, were lifting his dampened spirits. "Let's take the garage together."

"Absolutely," she replied, and once Nick had photographed and bagged the picture frame, they moved to the garage.

* * *

Nick spent the better part of the next few weeks planning and executing his move. The house on Walnut Street was far bigger than he would need for himself and Cassie, but, as Audra had reminded him countless times, it was an investment.

Because the sellers had moved across the country and had been gone for five of the six months the house had been vacant, there was little standing in Nick's way and he closed on the house three weeks after Audra's visit. Greg and Warrick volunteered to help him move in the following day after their shift, and were treated to an introduction to Ginger that involved Warrick on his back with Greg laughing at him.

Nick helpfully held out a hand to Warrick as Elizabeth, running from her house, heeled her dog. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, ready for her morning walk, with her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. "Sorry about that," she said in apology, snapping Ginger's leash onto her collar. "She gets excited to go outside, and even more excited to meet new people."

Warrick noted that it took considerable restraint on Elizabeth's part to hold Ginger back. "Has she ever bitten anyone?"

Elizabeth laughed. "No, she's never bitten anyone. She's a sweet girl . . . just big. Don't worry, Brown – she's felled bigger men than you."

Warrick harrumphed in reply, heading back to Nick's truck to move more boxes into the house. Greg, however, moved to make friends with Ginger and chat with Elizabeth. Nick observed his friend interacting with Elizabeth and paused to watch her. She struggled with Ginger, who had seen a reptile to chase, but respectfully kept eye contact with Greg. Because Greg hadn't been a CSI for very long, he hadn't worked with her too extensively – it could take years for a case they worked on to go to trial. She was probably glad for the opportunity to get to know him, because it meant she would know how to coach him better. This knowledge didn't save Nick from the involuntary pang of jealousy he felt when Elizabeth laughed boisterously at a joke Greg made at Ecklie's expense. He wanted that brilliant smile, those glee-filled eyes, turned toward him.

The back of Warrick's hand slapping his upper arm tore his attention away from Elizabeth. "This is _your_ crap, you know," he said, still smarting from being knocked on his behind by a dog.

"Sorry," replied Nick, and he moved toward the truck again.

They took a break while they waited for the movers to come. Nick, being a single guy, didn't have too much to move, so it had been relatively inexpensive to hire movers for his furniture and not a lot of trouble to pack the rest of his things himself. The day after his conversations with his father and brother, he had gone shopping for Cassie's bedroom furniture, and that would be delivered at some point during the morning as well.

Because he'd been relatively tight-lipped about it, news that he was adopting hadn't made headlines in the lab. In the beginning, he'd told Warrick, but had asked him not to say anything because it was all still so new. Sara wasn't the type to gossip and Greg had stayed quiet simply out of respect. Even though Grissom knew he visited Cassie, he didn't know about his decision to adopt, but Nick knew that Grissom wouldn't be insulted that he wasn't the first one to know.

He felt the insult to Catherine that his silence toward her was, but he simply hadn't had an appropriate opportunity. When he first talked about buying the house Catherine had been there, and asked why. "I just thought it was time," he had replied, but Ecklie had been standing right behind her. As much as he had come to terms with the fact that Ecklie was just something he'd always have to deal with, he didn't want him to know about something so precious yet. He'd find some way to spoil it. Nick had sought Catherine out on the handful of occasions that he had been in the lab at the same time she was, but they'd never connected.

He was thinking about Catherine when Cassie's furniture arrived. He directed the deliverymen up the stairs and to the left, and asked them to leave it in the middle of the room because he'd have to paint it. When they left, Greg and Warrick joined him in the room.

"It's cute stuff, Nick," said Warrick, touching the cherry sleigh bed in the middle of the room.

"Yeah . . . but what do I do with the rest of the room?" he wondered out loud.

"Do I look like your interior decorator?" asked Warrick in reply. "I'm about ready to fall over. Take me home, Greg."

The younger CSI agreed, saying, "You're on your own on this one, Nick – I don't know nothin' about being frilly and pink. And before you ask I don't paint, either, so you're on your own there, too."

Nick smiled at his friends. "You guys have done more than enough," he said gratefully. He thanked them again for their help, promising them breakfast in return for their trouble as he showed them out.

Alone in his new house, he wandered a bit. Things were happening so fast, it seemed – it wasn't much more than a month ago that Cassie had looked up into his eyes and said, "I think you and me would make a good team." He hadn't told Cassie that he had bought the house next to Elizabeth's. He knew she liked Elizabeth and loved Ginger and wanted to surprise her with her new neighbors on the same day he delivered the news that she'd be able to come live with him. That news wouldn't be much longer in coming – both he and Cassie had interviewed with Jaycie Miller from the Department of Family Services. She had looked unsettlingly familiar to Nick, and this bothered him a little. He was usually only reminded of the living people he met in new faces, and in his line of work "living people" meant either the distraught family members of victims or suspects. He didn't like her much, but she seemed to want to move things along, and he couldn't fault her for that.

He was startled when his cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of the pocket of his jeans. He didn't want to answer, but put the phone to his ear anyway. "Stokes."

"Pancho, it's your dad."

Nick let out a breath. "Hey, Dad."

Bill Stokes almost winced; it always hurt when Nick wouldn't call him Cisco. "It's moving day, huh?"

"Yeah," replied Nick, secretly surprised that he knew. "I'm all moved in."

"Audra sent some photos," explained the judge. "It looks like a nice home for your little Cassie."

Despite his lingering irritation with his father, Nick's heart warmed. "Yeah," he agreed. "She'll be comfortable here. It's a good neighborhood."

"Meet any of the neighbors yet?"

Again, Nick smiled. "Not officially," he replied, thinking of Elizabeth. "I'm sure it won't be long."

"I'm sure it won't be," agreed Bill. "Listen, Pancho . . . about our last conversation . . . ." He let out a breath, but said nothing more.

Nick knew better than to expect an apology, but prompted his father. "Yeah?"

"I'm not sure what you wanted me to say."

Nick sat down, aggravated, on his couch. "I told you what I wanted you to say."

"He shouldn't have taken his feelings out on you, Pancho." The affection in his voice told Nick that this was not said begrudgingly. "It isn't just Billy that wishes Billy had children. I know the girls have given me fourteen beautiful grandchildren, and I don't have any doubt that sooner or later your Cassie will have me wrapped around her little finger . . . but you and Billy are my boys, and you have no boys of your own. I'm an old-fashioned man – you know that – and I just want my name to go on."

There were many things Nick wished he had the courage to say in reply to his father – _Is that Billy's excuse, too?_ and _How long did Mom coach you to say that?_ were among them. However, what came out of his mouth was, "I understand," mostly because he did, despite the jealousy he'd always feel that Billy was closer to his father than he was.

"I'm sorry I didn't say all this the last time we talked. You know I don't like to have to explain myself," said Bill.

"Yes, sir," replied Nick, who didn't like to have to explain himself either.

"Sometimes being a parent means you have to swallow your pride. Usually a man gets to start off small with a baby – admitting he doesn't know how to fix a bottle or comfort the little guy – and work his way up. You're gonna start off somewhere in the middle, Pancho . . . I'm not sure what that means for you, but I do know that you're going to be a great dad."

This little gesture of support was enough to soothe him, and he smiled. "Thanks, Cisco."

Nick closed the conversation satisfied that even if Billy wasn't going to be happy for him, there were countless others who were. He continued to wander his new house, and when his wanderings led him outside by the pool – which, despite Holly's assurances that it had been freshly filled and chlorinated "a few months ago", would need to be emptied and cleaned out – the early afternoon sun reminded him that he needed to get some rest. Since he didn't sleep under the covers anymore, it didn't bother him to slip his shoes off and climb on top of his sheetless bed fully-clothed, and close his eyes.

He was awoken by Elizabeth knocking on his door with a basket of fruit and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift. He was pleased and touched, and though they couldn't share any of the wine he cut an apple in half, and they toasted with it. She told him about his new neighbors, from the busybody elderly ladies to the self-important businessmen, and the handful of down-to-earth families who had children about Cassie's age. Too soon, she excused herself to go home to tend to Ginger.

Preparing for work that evening proved to be a bit of a challenge, having to find everything from a bath towel to his socks, but he made it out the door in plenty of time to be, as usual, two hours early for his shift. He hadn't bothered to try to find his coffee pot, so begged some Blue Hawaiian off of Greg and wished he cared more about how his coffee tasted so he could thank the former lab rat in the profuse manner he almost expected. All Nick really wanted was the caffeine.

The next morning he had to make a court appearance. He had never been so grateful that he kept a suit in his locker, because otherwise he'd have to go all the way home, which was now further away from the lab, to try to find one, and hope that it was pressed. As he was heading for the courthouse, David Martin called him.

"Stokes," he said, expectation and excitement in his voice.

"Stokes, it's David Martin," said the voice on the other end, sounding tired. "Look, we need to talk – where are you?"

"Headed for the courthouse," he replied. "I'm scheduled to testify this morning."

"Oh, good," said Martin. "That's where I am – we can talk there." There was a little café just outside of one of the courtrooms and they arranged to meet there when Nick was done with his testimony.

He was all anticipation when he saw Martin approach. He was already planning to head to Blue Diamond that afternoon to ask Cassie what color she wanted her bedroom painted. The look on his attorney's face, however, did not bode well for Nick.

"Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush, Stokes. Your petition was denied." David Martin looked a little irritated as he shook a handful of papers in front of Nick.

He took the papers, the words hitting him in the chest like a baseball bat. "What?"

"Denied," repeated Martin. "They said no, in other words."

"But why?" Nick felt heavy all of a sudden, and his stomach began to churn. "I'm a perfectly normal . . . honest . . . straightforward person. Why?"

"You were involved in the murder of a hooker in 2001. No social worker in her right mind is gonna give you a kid after that, and frankly, I'm seriously pissed off that you didn't mention this when I asked you to disclose your personal legal issues. This makes me look bad, Stokes."

Nick shook his head in denial. "I don't _have_ any personal legal issues and if you're referring to Kristy Hopkins, I _wasn't_ involved in her murder. Besides, you said the background check was fine – 'squeaky clean' was what you said."

"Yeah, well, background check or no background check, apparently they came across this elsewhere," replied Martin. "They got a case file that says your fingerprints and DNA were all over her house and her body – even a touchy-feely social worker knows that means you screwed her. The case file also says that you were the initial and most obvious suspect until another was miraculously found. Did you have someone fix something for you, Stokes?"

Nick's temper flared. "Hey – I resent that!" he snapped, struggling to keep his voice down. "Nobody _fixed_ anything and I was _not_ involved in Kristy's murder. I was in her house before she died, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Look, they have it on file – you made it with a whore. You're not gettin' the kid."

Angry, Nick stepped closer to the lawyer. "_Don't_ call her that. She's dead; have some respect."

"Fine – call girl, hooker, prostitute – whatever you like to call them. The result is the same; DFS said no."

Beginning to look lost and feel panicked, Nick began to flounder a little. "But . . . we can file an appeal . . . I can appeal this, right?"

Martin shook his head. "Not with me. Do you know how this makes me look? I'm done with you, but even if I weren't, you don't have a prayer."

He paused again and breathed as though he had been punched in the gut. "Look, you don't understand . . . I love that little girl . . . . Cassie needs-"

"Cassie needs someone who doesn't like hookers. You're wasting my time." With that, he briskly headed for the elevator.

Alone, he watched Martin disappear. Not knowing what to think or do for several long moments, he covered his face with his hand and was trying to imagine how in the world he could explain the decision to Cassie when he heard shoes clacking behind him.

"Hey, neighbor."

He turned quickly to see the last face he wanted to see just then. He adjusted his features slightly and then greeted her. "Elizabeth . . . how are you?"

She looked him over a moment. "Better than you, apparently," she replied. "Bad case?"

He didn't know why, but he told her. "No . . . I, uh . . . my application for guardianship was turned down."

She creased her brow. "I'm sorry," she replied. "Why?"

"I . . ." Nick made circling gestures, searching for something to say. Elizabeth took the papers from his hand and held them up.

"May I?"

"I . . ." He floundered a moment more. "I really would prefer that you didn't."

Confused, she handed the papers back to him. "All right. Do you know what you're going to do?"

He swallowed. "My lawyer said I really didn't have a chance. He . . . dropped my case."

"Oh." This made Elizabeth instantly suspicious. She couldn't think of a reason that an honest person like Nick would be denied voluntary guardianship by DFS, at minimum because it meant the state had one less child to support. "Do you need representation? I'd be happy to review the decision."

Nick cleared his throat and finally met her eyes. "You uh . . . you probably don't want to do that." His face was grave and in his churning stomach he was starting to feel the deep regret and anger at himself which he thought he had buried long ago when he buried Kristy's body.

She tilted her head. "Why not?"

"I'm sorry," he replied, starting to feel real anger rise and knowing he needed to get out of the courthouse, "but I really don't want to talk about this right now."

Nodding, she patted his upper arm. "Okay . . . no sweat. Look, the offer's open – I would be more than happy to help you out. I think you'd be a great dad – that kid's lucky to have you for a friend."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not too sure about that right now, ma'am . . . but I appreciate the offer."

"My door's open, Stokes. I'll see you around." She continued down the corridor.

Nick proceeded to the exit. Once outside, he walked blindly toward the parking ramp and climbed into his truck.

_I have to tell Cassie . . . somehow I'm supposed to tell her that I've been denied guardianship because I slept with a hooker who was unlucky enough to be murdered afterward._

He couldn't just leave it at that. He couldn't let her go – he meant what he had said to David Martin; he loved Cassie and all he wanted to do was bring her home and help her finally heal. She was safe and well cared-for with Emily Patterson, but he knew he could do so much more for her. He had to fight for that – he had to fight for Cassie. He was going to have to file an appeal.

He couldn't do it alone and he couldn't go back to his father to ask for another name. He thought of Elizabeth's offer . . . it was probably his best option, but it meant that she would know one of his darkest secrets.

Then, he recalled his father's words from his phone call the previous day: _"Sometimes being a parent means you have to swallow your pride . . . you're gonna start off somewhere in the middle, Pancho . . . I'm not sure what that means for you."_

"I do, Cisco," Nick said softly to himself, sighing and exiting his truck. He re-entered the courthouse to look for Elizabeth.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	12. Chapter 12

Elizabeth removed her glasses, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap thoughtfully. If Nick's abbreviated narrative had swayed her at all, she didn't show it. She cleared her throat and then looked up at Nick.

"You're going to have to tell me more about Kristy Hopkins."

"Kristy was my friend," he replied, tilting his chin up in defiance. "What happened between us was private; I'd like to keep it that way."

"I know you would, Stokes," she replied quietly, "but I need to know what you need defense against. If you were never charged in her murder, there should've been nothing for Jaycie Miller to find in a background check."

"Hey – I didn't do anything wrong," he yelled at her, and there was the mean, angry look again. "I just told you everything you need to know; the rest is between me and a dead woman and that's where it's going to stay."

"What you told me doesn't help," said Elizabeth gently. She knew he must be tired and she knew he was upset, but she needed to know – for the sake of his case, certainly, but also for herself. All she knew at that moment was that Nick had admitted to having a personal relationship with a woman in whose murder he had been a suspect. She knew there was more – she knew there _had_ to be – but if Nick didn't tell her what it was, she didn't know how she'd find out.

Nick's cell phone rang then, and he chose to answer it instead of responding to Elizabeth. He spoke with Grissom for a moment with his back to the DA. When he hung up, he replaced the phone on his belt and looked over his shoulder. "Look it up if you want to know," he said, his voice weak and tired and disgusted. "It's none of _their_ business; it's none of _your_ business." He turned to face her. "I have to go . . . Grissom needs me."

Elizabeth sighed once he shut her door. What she hadn't been able to work out was why the background check hadn't turned up anything, but Jaycie Miller had written a letter of rejection. Nick was not being particularly forthcoming, either, which meant she'd have to do some independent research. A review of what she could find in the municipal system on Kristy Hopkins' murder didn't give her much more than what Nick had already told her. She decided to wait until that evening and knock on his door – maybe at home, he'd be more comfortable and give her the missing piece of the puzzle.

Once she was home, she hurriedly fed Ginger and played with her a little in the back yard before knocking on Nick's door. When he answered it, he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She admired him for a moment, standing there barefoot with tousled hair, shirtless, wearing plaid flannel pajama pants.

"Hey, Stokes."

He allowed his eyes to adjust to the setting sun. "Hey. Why don't you come in?"

His tone was surprisingly gentle; she smiled at him a little as he stepped aside to allow her through the door. Once she was through, he closed it behind her. "C'mon," he said, using a swooping motion to welcome her further into the house. He led her down the hall and into the kitchen, where he had found the box his coffee maker had been packed in. He pulled it out and began to make a pot of coffee.

"I hope I didn't wake you too soon," she said, trying not to watch him too closely.

He shook his head, filling the water tank on the machine. "No. I wanted to drive out to Blue Diamond . . . just for a couple of minutes, if Emily will let me talk to Cassie. I tried calling earlier, but . . . I guess she was doing chores." He turned the coffee maker on and then turned to her – still shirtless and apparently oblivious of her discomfort – and leaned against the counter. "So . . . I assume you read the file."

She nodded. "I looked through what I could get my hands on, which was the transcript of Jack Willman's trial. Unfortunately, it didn't help me any. You didn't testify and your name wasn't mentioned. I need you to tell me what happened."

He was quiet a moment; Elizabeth could tell he was trying not to show how angry he was at the fact that he needed defense. "If I do," he replied, his expression like stone and his jaw set, "do I have a chance?"

"Yes, you have a chance," she assured him. "You have a more than a chance . . . you just need someone who isn't afraid to defend you."

He met her gaze, which was fixed firmly on his face. "Is that going to be you?"

She nodded. "If you want it to be."

He smiled a little. "Yeah, I do."

Elizabeth willed herself to stop blushing. "I meant what I said earlier today. Cassie is lucky to have a friend like you, and I think you'd be a great dad. I'm going to help you get your chance."

He nodded his thanks. "I need to get out to see Cassie before her bedtime . . . so we should talk about this, but I can't right now. I need to get going."

"Okay," she replied quietly to the still-shirtless Nick. "Um . . . tomorrow is Saturday . . . I'll be home when you're done with work. You can just pop on over."

"Sure," he agreed with a nod. "Sure." He gestured to the coffee pot. "You want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I'll be up all night."

Then he smiled a genuine and warm smile, running his fingers through his hair. "That's the goal."

"For you," she conceded. Then, to avoid open admiration of his tousled hair and strong chin, she looked around his kitchen. "So . . . I take it you haven't had the chance to talk to Cassie yet?"

He shook his head, his smile melting. "No. I want to get out there tonight and let her know before someone else does."

"Do you think it's wise to tell her about this? We might be talking about a delay of only three weeks or a month."

He nodded. "I promised her I'd tell her what happened – I promised her I'd always be honest with her. Just because this is uncomfortable for me doesn't mean I can break my promise."

Elizabeth's cheeks turned pink as her opinion of Nick Stokes rose even higher. "How do you think she'll take it?" she asked quietly.

"Not well," he said, pulling a coffee cup out of a box. "She's lost so much faith in people . . . I don't know how I'm going to tell her. I don't want her to lose faith in me."

Elizabeth turned to look at him again as he poured his coffee. "Don't give her the option," she advised in a gentle voice. "Make sure she knows you're going to fight for her."

As he took his first cautious sip of coffee, he looked into her eyes. "Who was it, Elizabeth?"

Caught off guard more than a little, she stuttered a little as she asked, "Who was what?"

"Who was it that didn't fight for you?"

She swallowed. "No one fought for me, Stokes."

"No one at all?"

She shook her head. "Not since I was five." She was far beyond tears at this point, but there were still very few people who knew about what had happened to her as a child. She looked away, and then back to him. "Your case . . . this whole thing is a little closer to my heart than you realize. Cassie's story and mine aren't all that different." She watched him crease his brow as he put the coffee cup down on the counter. She didn't know why she had mentioned it, except perhaps as a device to assure Nick of her interest in Cassie's future. "Although," she continued, clearing her throat, "that's really not the point. The point is . . . kids don't want to be babied. They want to be trusted and they want to know the truth. If you respect Cassie at least that much, she'll be okay. She doesn't need gory details, she just needs to know that you're not giving up."

"I love Cassie," he whispered frankly. "I'm not giving up."

"Good." For a split second, she let her eyes wander to his nicely-formed, still-shirtless biceps. Then, as though someone had splashed cold water on her face, she shook her head and met his eyes again. "I'll . . . I'll let you . . . you know . . . get ready for work. I'll go home now."

"Okay," he replied, taking a last sip of his coffee. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow morning."

Slightly irked that he had had the gall to just stand there, without a shirt on, and speak unaffectedly with her about so serious a subject, Elizabeth went home to a cold shower and a cold bed. For his part, as Nick started his own shower, he passively thought that it probably would have been a good idea to put on a shirt.

* * *

From the grim look on Nick's face, Emily knew it was going to be a bad night for Cassie, but she retrieved her anyway. She shooed the other children out of the little living room as she shooed Cassie in, closing the door behind her.

It took him a moment to meet Cassie's eyes, but when he did, he smiled despite himself. "How you doin', Cass?"

"I'm okay," she replied. "What's wrong, Nick?"

"Remember I promised to be honest with you, and I promised I'd tell you about what happens in the adoption process?"

"Yeah?"

He sat down in an armchair and patted his leg. "I have some bad news."

She swallowed and then sat on his lap. "They're not going to let you adopt me."

Nick stopped himself before he shook his head. "Not right now." Clearing his throat, he proceeded to issue the reason he had rehearsed in his head. "I think Mrs. Miller was told something about me that isn't quite true. Do you remember, when we first talked about this, I said that people who want to adopt kids can't be in any trouble with the law?"

"Yeah." Her face then took on a concerned look, and she tilted her head. "Did you do something bad?"

"No," he replied quickly, panicking slightly. "No, I didn't, Cass . . . I promise." He cleared his throat again, and began. "A couple of years ago, I . . . I had a girlfriend. Her name was Kristy. One night, she got into a fight with a man she knew named Jack. I happened to see them, and I broke it up and told Jack to go home . . . and he got mad at me, but he left. Then I drove her home, and I stayed at her house for a little while, and when it got late, I went home. After I left, Jack came into her house . . . and they had a fight. . . ." Nick paused to draw a breath and clear his throat again. "And . . . he killed her."

"Why?" Cassie's voice was a whisper. It made his eyes fill again.

"I've been asking myself that for a long time, honey," he replied honestly. "He was mean, and he was mad at her," _and at me,_ he thought, but left out. "Beyond that, I really don't know. I wish I did."

"So you can't adopt me because your girlfriend died?" she asked. "That's really stupid."

"No . . . that's not why. When the police came, they found my fingerprints in the house. You remember what I taught you about fingerprints?"

She nodded. "Did they think you hurt Kristy?"

His voice was thick when he replied, "Yeah, they did. And even though the people that I work with could prove that I didn't . . . that Jack was the one who hurt Kristy . . . the only thing that Mrs. Miller was told was that I had been the primary suspect in a murder."

"So she thinks you're a bad person."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, she does." He was surprised when a tear began to roll down his cheek; he swiped it away, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Cassie."

She sighed. "It's not fair," she complained quietly.

"No," he agreed, another tear falling. "It's not. None of this is fair."

"You can still visit me, can't you?" she asked, her eyes big and fearful. "Susan's dad is a bad person; they said he couldn't visit her anymore. They're still going to let you visit me, aren't they?"

"I'm still going to visit you, Cass," he replied, swallowing a sob. Then he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. "I'm so sorry."

She squeezed back. "Don't cry, Nicky."

_Jesus, Cassie,_ he thought, petting her hair, _you're not supposed to be comforting me._ He pulled back a little, meeting her eyes. "All this doesn't mean that this is where this ends. I'm not going to let anyone think that about me," he told her, his voice firm. "I'm going to file an appeal. Do you know what that means?"

"Is it like a protest?" she asked.

"It is," said Nick. "I'm not sure what I'll have to do yet, but we'll figure it out. We might have to talk to a judge, or maybe a different social worker. They might want to talk to Miss Emily, too."

"Will it take a long time?"

"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "Is everything going all right here with Miss Emily?"

She shrugged. "It's going okay. I mean, people say Miss Emily's mean, but she's not mean to me. She's always crabby, but that's only because people are always yelling at her. People yell all the time here . . . and Susan's stupid. I wish you didn't tell me I should be her friend."

Nick kissed the side of her head. "Everyone needs a friend, Cassie Jane."

She smiled a little. "That's something my mom would say."

"Yeah?" Cassie nodded. "She sounds like a smart lady. You miss her, don't you?"

She nodded again in reply. "I miss my dad and Jeremy too."

Stifling his personal opinions of her family, he replied, "I'll tell you what – on my next day off I'll come pick you up and we can drive up to Pioche. We can bring your family some flowers and check in on Sheriff and Mrs. Brackett. How's that sound?"

"It sounds good," she replied, and then yawned. "I'm supposed to be in bed in a few minutes," she reported. "When is your next day off?"

"It's on Thursday," he replied. "I'll have to ask Miss Emily if she's okay with me taking you so far away."

"Okay. Can we visit Elizabeth soon?"

"As soon as she can make some time for us, Cass." He kissed her head again. "You go on to bed now."

She hopped off his lap and wished him a good night, leaving the little living room. As he expected, Emily entered as soon as Cassie was upstairs.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Nick looked up at her, confused. "For what?"

"For not lying to her." She turned around and was halfway down the hall before Nick was able to catch her.

Her face, as ever, was stony and tired as her gray eyes met his. He cleared his throat before asking, "You . . . you're okay with me still coming to see her?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "You . . . you heard . . . everything?"

"Yeah." She paused a moment to let it sink in, and then said, "Look, Stokes . . . I don't think you're capable of squishing an ant under your shoe; of course I'm okay with you still coming to see her. And you can take her as far away as you want – you just bring her back in time for supper."

He smiled a little. "And call you every hour."

"On the hour. I got kids to get in bed – go home."

* * *

He went on to work, avoiding Grissom so he could make it through his shift without being handed a new assignment. To avoid thinking about what had happened he threw himself into the paperwork he needed to get caught up on, but found he couldn't focus on it. After what he was sure was a full shift, he looked at his watch to discover that it was only three AM, and he had at least four hours left to go. His head thunked down on the desk as Warrick walked in.

"Hey, Nick."

"What's up, Warrick?"

"Oh . . . not much." He sipped his coffee as he watched Nick rub his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He moved his hands to the back of his neck and tilted his face upward. "I've been staring at paper all night . . . you know how that goes."

"Yeah, I do," conceded Warrick. He passed before he continued. Pulling up a chair, turning it backward and then straddling it, he began in a low, melodic tone. "Listen, Nicky . . . can we talk?"

Nick straightened and looked at Warrick. "Sure . . . I guess. Something wrong?"

"You tell me," he challenged his friend. "I don't want to pry-"

"Then don't."

Warrick returned a withering look, and pressed on. "Nicky, we closed this case three weeks ago."

Nick looked down at the pile of paper on the table, confused. "Oh."

"You've been so happy lately, Nick, and today you storm in here, you're lookin' at old cases, and you've completely ignored Grissom all night. What's goin' on?"

Not knowing how to react, he stared at Warrick. He cleared his throat. "You know I don't like it when people pry into my personal business."

He nodded, concern in his green eyes. "Yeah, I do. I'm not asking you to spill your guts, Nick."

"Then what do you want, Warrick?"

"I just want to know if you're all right."

He stared at Warrick a moment longer. "Y'know what, Rick? I'm not all right. I've been accused of murder, I've been stalked, thrown out a window, had a gun in my face I don't know how many times – Jesus, I was buried in a Plexiglas box and eaten alive by fire ants – and you know what I have nightmares about?"

Deep concern etching his face, Warrick shook his head.

"A little girl. When I close my eyes in the morning I don't get to sleep, 'cuz I know she's not happy . . . I know she's learning about injustice and unfairness . . . I know she knows about pain and loss and fear and I know that no one is there to make it okay."

"You're talking about Cassie."

Looking away, he nodded. "Yeah."

"I thought you were doing something about that." Coolly, he sipped his coffee again and watched his friend through half-open eyes.

Nick swallowed and cautiously met his friend's eyes. "My petition was denied because someone at the Department of Family Services thinks I was somehow involved in Kristy Hopkins' murder. I had to tell Cassie, and I had to tell her why."

Warrick looked devastated for him. "I'm sorry, Nicky," he replied. Some silence passed between them before he asked, "You gonna appeal?"

Nick chuckled humorlessly. "I don't have a choice if I want her."

"If there's anything I can do . . ."

Nick nodded, looking at the case file. "Yeah . . . I know." Then he laughed. "I've been staring at this damn file all night long for nothing – that's just great."

Warrick rose from his chair and righted it at the table. "Why don't you give me a hand – I could use some help in the evidence room."

Nick looked around, and seeing nothing else of value to do, he agreed and followed Warrick. Once his shift was over, he avoided the locker room until he was fairly sure everyone had already left.

Sara, however, had been waiting for him. She felt his tension when she approached. "Havin' a bad day, Nick?"

"You could say that," he replied.

"You wanna share?"

"Not really. I've shared way too much today." He rose to close his locker and pulled his keys out of his pocket. "The worst part of it is . . . I'm going to have to share some more tomorrow." He let out a breath and rubbed his eyes a little. "It's just a little setback with Cassie."

Sara tilted her head. "She okay?"

"Yeah, she's all right," he assured her quickly. "Just . . . the whole process . . . a little setback with that."

She nodded her head. "You know, no one's called or sent me anything in the mail for a reference. If I remember right from some past cases, that's usually the first thing they do."

Nick creased his brow. "Really? I wonder why?"

Sara shook her head. "You should probably ask your lawyer about that."

He smiled a little. "I'll be getting a new one in the morning . . . I'll be sure to." When he looked back at Sara, he smiled. "Don't worry, Sar," he said. "I know where to find you."

She nodded in acknowledgement. "I know. Just make sure you do if you need me."

"I will," he replied gently, patting her upper arm. "Have a good day."

The following morning he crossed the yard to Elizabeth's house and rang her doorbell. She answered in a pair of jeans with her hair down and a pair of ornate, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. "Hey, Stokes," she said cheerfully as she invited him in.

Caught off-guard by her informal appearance, he rumpled his brow before he entered the house. "Hey," he replied, stepping inside. He was instantly disarmed with the scent of cinnamon. "Smells good in here."

Smiling, she closed the door behind him and invited him into the kitchen. "Do you want some coffee?" she offered.

"That'd be great, actually," he said. "Warrick had me hauling his evidence all over the lab all night."

She gestured for him to sit down at the kitchen table and put a cup of coffee in front of him. "How about some breakfast? I don't know if you eat breakfast food in the morning, but I made some cinnamon rolls . . . and fruit. I always have fruit."

He smiled. "That would be really nice," he replied as he sat. She brought the fruit bowl and a plate with a warm cinnamon roll on it. As he sipped his coffee she sat across from him and began peeling an orange. Instead of diving right into her questions, she engaged him in conversation about his night at work, laughing with him when he saw the humor in his having pawed through an old case for four hours without realizing it.

After a few moments, when Nick had finished eating and Elizabeth was filling his coffee cup again, he gazed up into her eyes without bothering to hide his admiration. "You're seducing me," he accused.

She smirked, knowing that – however disappointing it might be – his reference was not sexual. She put the coffee pot back again and then sat down across from him, gathering her own cup in her hand. "I have a theory," she began. "People say it's hard to tell the truth sometimes . . . but after eighteen years of prosecuting criminals, I say differently. When you get a guilty person on the stand you don't go for the tough questions right off the bat. You take it slow, get them comfortable, make them think you're a pussycat. Then, when they've been lulled into a false sense of security, when they're tired of tedious questions, when you've thrown so many details at them that they don't even remember what their story is – then, you go for the jugular. You do this because by that time, they're so tired and confused that their instinct is to do what's easiest – tell the truth. Most of the time it's such a knee-jerk reaction that they don't realize what they're saying until they've already said it, under oath, and it's too late."

"So you think I'm guilty of something?"

"I think _you_ think you're guilty of something," she said, "and your reaction to my questions yesterday led me to believe that it wouldn't be easy to get it out of you. So I am wearing you down with food and hot coffee after what has apparently been a very long night's work."

He chuckled. "You know . . . you're very good at what you do."

"I'm not the DA by accident."

"Well, Madam DA . . . either I came here ready to spill it, or your magic cinnamon rolls did the trick, or both . . . I don't know. But here it goes. Did you read the transcript of Jack Willman's trial?"

"I skimmed it looking for your name. You didn't testify and your name wasn't mentioned. I read through Willows' testimony but she never dropped a hint that another CSI was involved."

"Catherine did a very good job of making sure that my name stayed out of it. If you had read the transcript, you would have found what you're looking for."

Elizabeth leaned in eagerly. "What am I looking for, Stokes?"

"Kristy Hopkins was a prostitute and Jack Willman was her pimp. He killed her – he was angry with her because she was going to leave him and start her own racket . . . at least that's what he said."

"And how is her profession connected to you?"

Nick let out a breath. "I . . . slept . . . with . . . her," he replied slowly, avoiding her eyes.

If this surprised Elizabeth, she didn't let on. "In a professional capacity?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. Then he explained how he had met Kristy and how their complicated and unorthodox relationship had played out. He raised his head to look into her eyes to finish his story. "Sleeping with her wasn't the smartest thing I ever did, but I don't regret it. Professionally speaking, it was a mistake in judgment . . . I regret the consequences, but not the time I spent with her."

"What I don't understand," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, "is how any of this could've been discovered by DFS." Her face was worried. "If you were never entered as a suspect in Kristy's murder, the only other place your names could've been connected would be another case you worked involving her. According to what you just said, there would be two separate incidents, but who could've extrapolated your relationship from that? I'm sure she's not the only victim or suspect you've seen more than once."

Nick shook his head. "No, she's not. You know, Sara said something this morning that struck me as odd. She said no one had contacted her for a reference yet."

"That is odd," replied Elizabeth. "Why wouldn't they have done a complete background check before turning you down? Doesn't make sense. What about your other references? Do any of them know about Kristy?"

"Are you kiddin'? No," he said, shaking his head emphatically. "Not even Audra, and I tell that girl everything."

"What about Catherine?" asked Elizabeth, sipping her coffee. "Did she get a phone call?"

"I didn't ask Catherine to be a reference," replied Nick, a little sheepish.

"You didn't ask Catherine?"

"Well, she was on the list, but my lawyer crossed her off. Too many moms, he said. All my sisters were already on the list."

"Stokes, who _is_ this guy? Who told you it'd be better to have five women on the list who live three states away and who you never see than to have one co-worker parent refer you, only to drop your case at the first sign of trouble?"

"His name is David Martin." Nick was starting to feel downright inept. "My dad referred him."

"And what does he do for a living?"

"He's a supreme court justice."

"In Texas, I assume?"

"Yeah. . . ."

"I'm not impressed. This Martin guy's a hack and he has no spine." Nick put his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. "The good news for you, Stokes, is that I have spine to spare. Something fishy's going on here and I need to find out what it is. You may have made a mistake but to begin with, you're entitled to due process and I don't think you've gotten it. This shouldn't haunt you for the rest of your life."

He met her eyes then. "Thank you."

"You're not the only intelligent person who's ever made a mistake," she said with a knowing smile. "I'll get this straightened out and when I'm done, you and Cassie can throw me a pool party when she's all moved in." She sipped her coffee, not breaking eye contact with him. "Hey – how did it go last night with her?"

"She was upset, but she handled it well," he replied. "She's such a good kid."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her about Kristy – I just called her my girlfriend. I said there would be a delay, that it would take a little longer than we expected." He smiled gently at her. "She wants to come visit you soon."

"Any time," replied Elizabeth. "I'm just next door now."

As she sipped her coffee again, Nick lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "I'm not a bad guy, Elizabeth," he told her. "I hope you don't . . ."

She lifted an eyebrow when he trailed off. "Think less of you?" she finished for him, surprised. "Oh, good God, Stokes. You don't' honestly thin I've never made a stupid mistake, do you?"

He shrugged. "You're very successful," he replied. "Like you said, that doesn't happen by accident. Certainly not when you're an elected official."

"I got lucky," she replied. "The person I wronged was too embarrassed to make it public."

"What did you do?" His brows knit in curiosity.

"Something dumb," she replied cryptically.

"What's dumber than a criminalist having a hooker for a girlfriend?"

She smiled a little. "All right . . . I suppose it's only fair for me to share, too."

He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "It's not so bad."

She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. "I was involved with a married man." As soon as she said this, she looked away from his gaze. She knew he'd be disappointed – Nick was as straight-laced as they came – and she didn't want to have to look at him when he decided to make the corresponding face. "I wasn't dumb enough to think that he'd leave her for me, although he said it countless times. I _was_ dumb enough to believe him when he said she had a boyfriend, that their marriage vows meant nothing . . . and I was dumb enough to fall in love with him." Her eyes flicked up to Nick's face once and then back to her coffee cup. She smiled, a little sadly. "I think that trumps your hooker girlfriend." She squeezed the hand that held hers, and then pulled away to rise and walk to the sink, setting her cup in it. Looking out the window, she said, "You probably want to go home and get some sleep."

He joined her at the window, placing his hand on the small of her back. "How old were you?"

"Almost twenty. I met him studying for the bar."

"You were a kid," he said. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

"I knew it was wrong," she insisted, then turned to face him. His hand slid to her left hip. "Anyway . . . everyone's got their secrets. You're no different than anyone else, Stokes."

"Neither are you, Elizabeth." He inched closer to her. "There's somethin' I've been wanting to ask you. It's kind of been buggin' me lately."

They were so close she could smell his faded aftershave. Trying hard to ignore its alluring scent, she tilted her head. "Oh. What is it?"

His right hand on her hip, he used his left to push her hair off of her shoulders and cup her cheek gently. "Would you please call me Nick?"

She swallowed, letting out a breath as she whispered, "Nick."

He tucked her hair behind her right ear, his fingers lingering there for a fraction of a second, a smile in his eyes. "I like you," he said softly.

"Nick," she replied, his name crisp on her lips like cool water, "I like you, too." Laying her right hand against his chest, she leaned into him almost imperceptibly. He laid his cheek on the top of her head as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled his body closer to hers. It was so much less than he wanted, but so much more than he expected and he reciprocated by sliding his right hand from her hip up her back, making her shiver, and then plunging both hands into her dark tresses.

"Your hair smells nice," he said after he had tangled his fingers up in it.

She smiled, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Thanks," she replied with a little laugh.

He closed his eyes and held her closer, moving his left arm to cradle both of her shoulders and sliding his right down her back, his fingers leaving a trail of electricity as they traced the curve of her spine. Nick was quiet for a moment, enjoying the comfort of her embrace after his heartbreaking news, but soon enough the previous 24 hours caught up with him and his body started to feel heavy.

"I bet I don't smell so good."

"I'm not complaining," she mumbled into his chest, but she pulled away to look into his eyes. "I'm sure you need some sleep."

He nodded, his big chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners. "I do."

"We'll talk soon," she said, unreasonably disappointed.

He nodded again, linking the fingers of his right hand with the fingers of her left. Her cheeks bright pink, she smiled at him a moment, and then led him to the front door.

"Thanks for breakfast," he said in a low tone, right before a giant yawn overtook him.

She laughed. "You're welcome, St-" Stopping herself, she looked down at the floor and then up again at his expectant face. "You're welcome . . . Nick."

Impulsively, he leaned over to kiss the spot between her big green eyes. "See you soon." He opened the door and left Elizabeth's house, heading across their yards. Elizabeth closed the door behind him, the loss she felt tangible.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Apologetic Note: **While on a read-through of this today (when I was supposed to be working, of course), I noticed that this entire section was missing from the story. Needless to say, I was mortified. I hope its absence didn't cause you too much confusion and I apologize that I missed it. Please enjoy this (even if it is out of order) and if you have any questions please feel free to pm me. Thanks, as always, for reading, and particularly for your reviews. I love them all!

Jacqui

* * *

"Willman . . . Willman . . . where've I heard that name before?"

Elizabeth Halles was sitting in her office, her feet up on her desk and her arms spread out, as if by laying in this semi-prone position some wisdom would come to her from above. Kristy's murderer's name had been a niggling annoyance for the past several days. Elizabeth was used to being able to remember just about everything, even the smallest detail of conversations, so being unable to remember where she'd heard a name got under her skin. Also, multiple phone calls to David Martin had not resulted in even a return call, which did not sit well with Elizabeth.

She was not a patient woman by nature. As a child, being shuffled to and from foster homes, she had no sense of entitlement and very few expectations. Since she began to work for the office of the district attorney, her expectations of those around her slowly increased, and since becoming the DA two years prior, her sense of entitlement, at least to the respect of a return phone call from a fellow attorney, had all but exploded.

Any real arrogance that might have resulted from her position was stemmed, and always had been, by Elizabeth's background. She had attended an excellent college and an even better law school on scholarships given to her as a gifted student, but unlike many of her fellow classmates she struggled because she had to work in order to make ends meet. Growing up in foster care had actually prepared her for this. At college, as in many of her foster homes, there was no encouragement to be found after a frustrating day. In both places, she did what she had to do for survival, and for her own satisfaction.

Once she began to practice law, she found an entirely new motivation: victims. When her parents were murdered, she was five, and though she may have been seen as a victim, as a minor she wasn't granted many of the same rights. Her mentally ill uncle, who had shot her father, and then her mother, had been sentenced to life in a mental institution not long after. Elizabeth did not know what had happened to him until she was ten. She had slowly forgotten the injustice she felt as a child, being set aside and whispered about, as she attained her legal education. The first case she ever worked involved the nursing home death of a seventy year-old woman whose daughters wanted answers. Elizabeth's own memory of being likewise wronged came back with such force that she vowed never to forget again.

This led her to handle Nick Stokes' case with as much tenacity as she brought to every other case she handled. If she were at all honest with herself, there was actually a little more. Cassie's story had touched her heart with its similarities to her own, and through Cassie's eyes, Elizabeth saw in Nick the hero she dreamed of as a little girl but who never came. And then there was Cassie herself, who for all her trials was a genuinely great kid who quite obviously adored Nick. She deserved the peace and sense of belonging that he could give her.

"Willman . . . ."

The appeal had been filed a week ago and was probably festering in giant pile of paperwork somewhere at DFS. She had asked Nick to find out where his father had gotten David Martin's name, but that didn't yield any leads. He was just a college buddy of Nick's brother's, and had no real connection to the family.

"Willman . . . ."

She was still muttering when Robert Christianson, one of her two assistant district attorneys, walked into her office. "What are you doing?" he asked with a befuddled expression.

Elizabeth didn't move. "Bobby, do you know the name Willman? Have you heard that before?"

"Maybe," he conceded. "You got a first name?"

"Jack."

He thought a moment, then shook his head. "Nope. Nothing rings any bells. Want me to look it up?"

"I already did," she said, sitting up and removing her feet from the desk. "I already know what Jack Willman's guilty of – murdering a hooker – but I know I've heard the name Willman somewhere before and I just can't place it."

Bobby shook his head. "I can't help you, Liz," he said. "I'm sorry. What's this all about?"

"Well . . . you know Nick Stokes," she said, perching her glasses on her nose. "And you remember the Luke Daniels case – the one extradited from Lincoln County."

"Couldn't forget it," he replied. "That little Cassie was so sad . . . it broke my heart to talk to her. And she was so afraid to testify I almost didn't try to convince her to do it. But she was a trooper – testified like a pro."

Elizabeth smiled. "Stokes wants to adopt her."

Bobby's eyes lit up. "Does he? I always had him pegged for a family man. Good for him."

"Yeah, only he got turned down and I can't figure out why. The letter he got cites some criminal activity, but he's clean . . . he wouldn't have a job if he weren't. The DFS official also cited conflict of interest in the McBride's murder – Stokes worked that case, you remember."

"I remember he almost got tossed off the stand," replied Bobby in annoyance. Hoisting an eyebrow, he took the letter Elizabeth held out and reviewed it. "It think this Jaycie Miller needs to look up the term," he said. "Why would DFS care that he worked her case?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't figure, unless they're just trying to confuse Stokes. Someone unfamiliar with the family court system might be, and while Stokes is familiar with criminal law, he's far from a lawyer."

"Didn't he attain representation when he filed the petition?"

"Yeah – a David Martin." She took the letter from Jaycie Miller out of Bobby's hand. "Do you know him?"

"Nope," he replied.

She let out a sigh. "He's in private practice, referred to Stokes by his dad – did you know he's a supreme court judge?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nope," he repeated.

"His mom was a DA," she noted. "Anyway, the little bastard won't return my phone calls and I've tried to contact this Miller lady, but I'm getting nowhere fast."

"And . . . how did _you_ get involved in all of this?" asked Bobby, more than curious.

"I happened upon Stokes after Mr. Martin rather unceremoniously dumped the denial in Stokes' lap and then dumped him. He'd taken me to see Cassie a couple of times and he's my neighbor now, so . . . I offered."

"Ah, I _see_," said Bobby with a smirk. "The _neighborly_ thing to do."

"Don't look at me like that," she snapped, annoyed that she could be seen through so easily.

"Oh, come on, Elizabeth," he said, exasperated. "Everyone knows you watched that case like a hawk because of the little girl, and now you have a thing for Stokes, don't you?"

"Bobby-"

"Oh, no, sister," he exclaimed, pouncing on her weak moment like she'd trained him to do. "I got you. You pretend you don't like anyone but I _got_ you – _you_ have a _thing_ for _Stokes_."

"You're fired."

"I'll take that as a yes." As his boss glared at him, Bobby sat on her desk. "What you need to do is strategize."

"I'm the DA, Bobby. I'm all about strategy."

"Of course you are. Now listen – what I'd do in this case is push for a speedy trial. Give DFS as little time as possible to gather all the necessary evidence."

"There isn't any evidence to gather. I need to find out who's behind this so I can-"

"You need to get Stokes an approval," he interrupted, ignoring her irritated look. "Keep your eyes on the prize, Liz. That's what you always say. We get paid for convictions."

"It's family court, Bobby; there's no trial. It's a hearing and they take eons just to schedule."

"Oh, but you have friends in high places."

"I don't do favors," replied Elizabeth.

"But you do have coercive talents," he suggested. "And party-planning skills."

She nodded slowly in understanding. "I do, don't I?"

"You do."

She sat back in her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "You know – you're right. Back to the basics. Strategy and ass-kissing." She eyed Bobby, still sitting on her desk. "You know any family lawyers?"

Bobby grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Elizabeth spent the next day on the phone. She spoke to three lawyers Bobby referred her to, fishing for information on who she could possibly speak to at DFS or anywhere else to get a hearing jammed into someone's schedule. She wanted the best judge for the job, but knew she'd have to take anything offered. She spoke to child support caseworkers, social workers, department psychologists, even stenographers. In the end, all it took was to finally annoy someone enough to be passed onto a judge's clerk, and with a little coordination between Betsy and the collective secretary for the department's social workers, she was home free.

Nick called her twice that day, and though she didn't have time to call him back, she was able to knock on his door that night to announce, "We have a hearing date."

"Oh – that's good," he replied. He was showered and dressed, on his way to visit Cassie. He offered her a cup of the coffee he was pouring; she turned it down. "When's the hearing?"

"Tomorrow morning."

He almost dropped his cup. "What?" He looked horrified.

"It's tomorrow morning," she repeated. "We need to blow through this process as fast as we can, Stokes – whoever's behind this won't have enough time to react."

"Yeah, but who _is_ behind this?" he replied, starting to get angry. "What about finding that out?"

"What you need right now is to get an approval from the department," she reminded him. "We can figure out later who the gossip is. We need to focus on the end result."

He shook his head. "No – no end result. I'm not buyin' it, Elizabeth. I want to know who's screwing with me and I want to know why – reschedule it."

She shook her head. "No, Nick – we're not going to reschedule. I promise you, we'll find out who and why, but right now we need a stamp of approval. I have a feeling that once we get Jaycie Miller in a conference room, some things will come to light, if we play it right. But if anything's going to happen at all, I need you to _trust_ me."

"I do trust you, Elizabeth, but I'm a little leery about this bull-in-a-china-shop theory you got goin'. It's family law; it's touchy-feely – not like the head games and political bullshit and loopholes you deal with in criminal cases."

She closed her eyes in annoyance. _He just wants to make sure he gets Cassie. He's just afraid of losing Cassie._ Meeting his eyes again, she tried to soften her expression. "Look, I know . . . I know you don't want to screw this up and I know someone is fucking with you, but I need you to trust me." He looked away, agitated, annoyed. She took his hot cheeks between her cool hands and turned his face toward hers. "Nick, please. I want Cassie to come home to you as much as you do. Please trust me."

He closed his eyes and let out a breath. If he couldn't trust her now, if he couldn't put Cassie in her hands and know that whatever it took, Elizabeth would protect her, what did that mean for a future with her? He took her hands off her face gently, squeezing them before he let go. "All right."

"Here's what we're going to do," she said, taking his hands from her face. "We're going to handle this like a criminal case. We're going to focus on evidence, on the fact that DFS has none. The only thing you need to know is that you've been wrongfully denied guardianship of a child who you love and you're prepared to fight for her."

"That's easy," he replied. "Can I be incredibly angry too?"

"As long as you keep your cool." He nodded, doubtful. "We'll go over most of it tomorrow morning – nine am. It'll be at the DFS office on North Pecos. Do you know where that is?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. I'll meet you in the lobby at around eight thirty, so we can talk about what to expect."

He leveled his clearly doubtful gaze at her. "In criminal cases you do that days in advance."

She nodded. "I know," she replied. "Nick, please don't doubt me. I can give you Cassie."

He put the cap on his travel mug, and then set it on the counter. "I trust you," he said. He looked up to meet her eyes; his had shaky faith. "I trust you, Elizabeth, and I'm going to tell Cassie to trust you too."

"Good," she said. "You both can."

He smiled, and when he showed her out he gently kissed her forehead again, promising to see her at eight thirty the following morning. He was glad she hadn't called him back, because if she had, any sleep he would've gotten would have been interrupted by those infuriating nightmares he couldn't remember anymore. At least tonight, all he'd have to deal with was irritation and distraction.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's reading and especially to those of you who are reviewing - the little notes make me smile.**

**I hope this answers any open questions, and I hope you enjoy :) Thanks for reading!**

* * *

"Are you ready for this?"

Elizabeth sipped the cup of coffee in her left hand. She held her briefcase in the other. Her jaw was set, her eyes determined in that no-nonsense way that most everyone who knew her was familiar with. Nick bore a similar expression, except that where Elizabeth's face conveyed confidence, his conveyed worry.

He nodded. "Yes."

She imitated his movement and gestured toward the conference room, where the hearing would take place, with her coffee cup. "Our presiding judge is Howard Parker. I've dealt with him only a handful of times and it was years ago. The guy's as old as the hills and twice as unpredictable, but there are ways to handle him. First of all, he wants to hear sir – yes sir, no sir, and thank you sir. Shouldn't be hard for a nice Southern boy like you, right?"

"Right," he replied absent-mindedly.

"Always call him Judge Parker, never your honor – that, I don't get, but it's his thing. He'll never correct you, but he will get increasingly annoyed. He will also talk directly to you at all times."

"Right – because I'm the defendant."

"No, because you have a penis. As far as I know, DFS isn't sending a penis, so at least we have that going for us. Now listen Stokes, there's no defendant – you're the petitioner. You don't need defense. Get that straight in your head and stop looking like a guilty puppy."

He nodded, trying to fix his face. "Okay."

"Let me see some arrogance. Some entitlement. Remember," she said, whispering conspiratorially as she took a step closer, "_you_ found her. _You_ were the only one who was looking for a girl, not a body. _You_ pulled her off the shore of that lake. _You_ saved her life." Their eyes locked and a moment passed between them. "And now you want to give her a home. You're a good man, a good CSI, a public servant. No one tells you you're not good enough."

Nick's eyes had hardened, and he nodded. "No one."

"That's right," said Elizabeth, stepping back. "Now, the other thing we have going for us is that as a younger man, Judge Parker wanted to practice criminal law but couldn't handle the less than pleasant aspects of it. He'd have nightmares after talking with psychologists about the criminal mind and graphic photos and descriptions of crime scenes made him physically ill. His squeamishness plays to your advantage because he admires police officers and crime scene analysts."

"I can do what he couldn't," surmised Nick, nodding.

"With this in mind, as we've discussed, we're going to handle this like a criminal case. Like you and I usually do, we're focusing on evidence – or in this case, the lack of it. DFS has nothing to support its denial."

"I'm entitled."

"Exactly."

Doubt flicked across his face for a fraction of a second. Elizabeth, conditioned to look for that flick in defendants on the stand, noticed and corrected it. She looked up into his eyes and said, "You can do this, Nick. If for no other reason than to see Cassie smile at you when you tell her she can come home."

He smiled. "I can do this," he said, and in his voice she heard the confidence she wanted to hear.

"That's right."

"Cassie's coming home."

"That's right."

He nodded again, and this time, he felt it. "Let's do this."

With a smirk, she led him into the conference room. They were not the first ones to have entered it; a lone woman, tall and blonde, sat facing the windows, a folder open before her. "Hello," said Elizabeth in greeting as she entered the room.

Nick chose a seat opposite the blonde woman, his expression cold. "Mrs. Miller," he said in greeting, trying to make her meet his gaze.

She smirked back at him. "Mr. Stokes," she replied. "How are you?" Then she caught sight of Elizabeth setting her briefcase and coffee cup down on the table before she pulled the chair out and seated herself. "What happened to David Martin?"

"I upgraded," he said, his eyes not wavering from hers.

Elizabeth had been extracting the pertinent documents from her briefcase during this exchange. Once she was seated and the documents arranged neatly, she looked up at Mrs. Miller to explain, but stopped cold.

"Jaycie _Willman_."

Nick watched as the blonde woman's smile froze, and at the same time, it occurred to him why she was so familiar looking.

"I _knew_ I'd seen your name before," Elizabeth said, her eyes narrowing as she connected dots in her head. "You testified for the county in a child abuse case three years ago – you testified against Marcus Hendershot. You're related to Jack Willman, aren't you?"

"My name is Miller," she said, fidgeting slightly.

"But it used to be Willman," said Nick. "You're that son of a bitch's _sister_." He remembered sitting in the court room on the day Jack Willman was sentenced to thirty years in prison – this woman, her face pressed into a tissue, had been sitting behind him in tears. "Is _that_ what this is about? You're getting back at me because your brother couldn't pin strangling an innocent girl on me?"

"That girl was a whore," she spat, disgust in her voice.

"_He's_ a whore," Nick countered, "and _she _didn't deserve to die." Elizabeth put her hand on his arm in warning.

Mrs. Miller's face twisted and turned pink. "I will thank you not to call my brother names," she replied tersely. "The fact that Jack is my brother has very little to do with this matter."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, my misguided friend," said Elizabeth. "And when Judge Parker gets here, you're going to find out exactly how wrong you are."

"Judge Parker will want to know all of the details regarding the offense committed by Mr. Stokes," she replied, her prim voice returning. "And he's going to hear every gory one of them."

"What he's going to hear is that you don't have substantiation for your claims against my client," spat Elizabeth, "and then he's going to hear-"

Their heated discussion was cut short when Judge Howard Parker walked into the conference room, wearing his robe and carrying a folder in his hands. A court reporter followed him into the room, setting her portable stenotype at the opposite end of the conference room table. "Good morning," he said in greeting, waddling over to his chair and sitting down. "Would you mind getting the door for me, my dear?" he asked of Mrs. Miller.

She bristled at his tone but rose to shut the conference room door. When she resumed her seat, Parker continued, turning to Nick. "I'm Howard Parker . . . you must be Mr. Stokes."

"Yes, sir," he replied, gesturing to Elizabeth at his right. "This is Elizabeth Halles, my attorney."

"Oh, yes," said the judge, wheezing as he spoke, "yes, you have the district attorney on your side, Mr. Stokes. Very clever of you, very clever." He turned his gaze to Elizabeth. "I voted for you, you know, Miss Halles."

"Thank you, Judge Parker," she replied with an amused smirk, knowing it was more likely that he'd campaigned against her. "I certainly appreciate it."

Smiling, Parker nodded and turned to Mrs. Miller. "And you must be Jaycie Miller, representing the Department of Family Services, is that right?"

"Yes, your honor," she replied, turning her glare at Elizabeth into another prim smile as she faced him.

Parker got down to business, turning to Nick. "We're here to discuss the matter of your petition for guardianship – a Cassandra McBride is the child in question, is that right?"

Nick nodded, smiling a little. "Cassie . . . yes, sir."

"The petition was turned down due to some criminal activity on your record, Mr. Stokes. There has also been some concern raised regarding your involvement with said same child in a different criminal case – is that the gist of your argument, Mrs. Miller?"

"Yes, sir," she replied primly. "Mr. Stokes was involved in the murder of a prostitute in 2001-"

"I do read these things before they're heard, Mrs. Miller. No need to re-hash what we already know. We all understand the argument?"

Nick met Parker's eyes and said, "Yes, sir." Elizabeth remained silent.

"Of course, your honor."

Parker shot an annoyed look at Mrs. Miller before returning to Nick. "Excellent. Now, Mr. Stokes, you have filed an appeal . . . everything's in good order there. I don't like to be too formal about these things – let's hear your response to these claims."

"Thank you, sir. First, I'd like to clear up the matter of the conflict of interest claim. I did not have any contact with Miss McBride until all of the litigation surrounding the tragic event that orphaned her in the first place was completed. I met her by chance following Luke Daniels' sentencing."

"And that was the first time you had any contact with her after taking her statement when she was found?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah . . . very good. Mrs. Miller, do you have any evidence to the contrary?"

"No, sir, but if that's true, then Mr. Stokes should be able to provide the court with third party testimony regarding that fact."

Elizabeth pushed two pieces of paper forward; Nick picked them up. "I have a statement here from Sheriff Dennis Brackett," he said, handing one of the documents to the judge. "He took Miss McBride in after her parents' murder, and then oversaw her transition to foster care."

Judge Parker took the document and perched his spectacles on his nose. "Ah, yes – this should satisfy your concerns, Mrs. Miller," he said once he'd read it, handing it to her.

Mrs. Miller read over the sheriff's statement. Clucking her tongue, she said, "It's just one letter."

"I also have a statement from Cassie's foster mother, Emily Patterson," said Nick smoothly, handing Parker the other document.

Judge Parker accepted and reviewed the paper, passing it to Mrs. Miller. "That'll be sufficient," he said dismissively. He turned back to the documents in his own folder. "Now, Mr. Stokes . . . about the criminal activity . . . this is a very heavy matter."

"Yes, it is," agreed Nick.

"Would you care to explain?"

"I wish I could, sir," he said, settling back into his chair. "But there isn't any criminal activity on my record at all. Quite frankly, the suggestion that I was involved in someone's murder is both outrageous and personally offensive, both to me and to my colleagues. You know as well as I do, sir, that had I been charged in this or any other matter, guilty or not I would've been fired, I would never have met Cassie McBride, and you and I would not be sitting here today."

"If that's the case, Mrs. Miller, what do you base your claims on?"

"Sir, charges are irrelevant. Mr. Stokes had an association with a prostitute. That's enough to make his character suspect."

Nick narrowed his eyes, finding it difficult to follow Elizabeth's advice to stay cool. "Yeah . . . _association_. Judge Parker, despite multiple requests from my attorney, Mrs. Miller has failed to produce any kind of documentation to substantiate her denial of my petition." He turned to look at Mrs. Miller and lowered his voice a little. "I bet I can come up with some documentation on your _association_ with some of the same people in that murder."

"_Nick_," snapped Elizabeth under her breath as she kept an eye on Parker, whose attention was thankfully arrested by the contents of his file.

"Birth certificate would work."

Elizabeth kicked his leg. He turned the mean, angry look toward her for a moment and saw it staring right back at him.

"Shut _up_," she mouthed. He turned back to the judge.

"Yes, I'm afraid Mr. Stokes is correct," said Parker, looking up at Mrs. Miller. "Have you got some kind of documentation?"

Mrs. Miller was beginning to flounder. "Documentation, your honor?"

"Yes . . . we don't just approve or deny good people who want to care for our children based on the weather, Mrs. Miller. You say he was involved in a murder – well, let's see the evidence."

"I'm not sure what you're expecting to see," she replied, looking into her briefcase.

"You did complete a background check, Mrs. Miller?" he asked, and from the expression on his face, Elizabeth knew they'd won.

"Judge Parker, if I may?"

"Oh, yes," the judge replied, "by all means, Miss Halles."

"Thank you, sir. Mr. Stokes and I just want to understand where Mrs. Miller's information is coming from. I mean, I understand . . . Miss Hopkins _was_ a prostitute, but she still receives equal treatment under the law, which includes privacy. The details of her murder are not for public consumption, so it's curious that she claims to have information that ought to have been kept confidential."

"Miss Halles, you know as well as I do that these are public records," spat Mrs. Miller.

Nick answered for Elizabeth. "Sir, we'd be happy to discuss this further if Mrs. Miller can provide us with the source of her information. I attended the trial, which is the only public record regarding Miss Hopkins' murder, and I can reasonably assure you that my name was never mentioned."

"Do you have documentation to support your accusations, Mrs. Miller?" asked Judge Parker, turning his aged blue eyes toward her.

"Your Honor-"

"If you haven't got anything to substantiate your claims, I don't have any choice except to recommend that Mr. Stokes' petition be re-evaluated and that you remove yourself from any cases involving either Mr. Stokes or Miss McBride."

"Judge Parker, the department objects more to the association with Miss Hopkins as a prostitute-"

"Honestly, Mrs. Miller – this is Las Vegas. Everyone knows a prostitute. Now, I have made my decision and I haven't got all day to debate it with you." He turned to Nick. "You're free to go, Mr. Stokes – and good luck with your adoption." He nodded once at Nick, who thanked him as he left the conference room. The stenographer followed him out.

Silence reigned until Elizabeth was sure that Judge Parker was out of earshot. Then she leveled a piercing stare at Jaycie Miller nee Willman, and even Nick had never heard such a chill in her voice as she said, "If there is one. More. _Wrinkle_. In this process for Mr. Stokes, you will. Be. Exposed. For the fraud. That you are."

She bristled again. "I'm not a fr-"

"You failed to complete a background check on Mr. Stokes before you produced a letter from the county denying his request. You put it on county letterhead and filed it as an official record. This was based on information you obtained from an unauthorized source. Your communication was, therefore, unauthorized, unlawful, and _fraudulent_."

Mrs. Miller said nothing, but glared at Nick and then Elizabeth.

"The county does not take these things lightly, Miss _Willman_, and as far as this matter is concerned, I _am_ the county. _One_ phone call and you'll have to move out of _state_ to work again. Do you understand?"

"I understand that I'm being threatened."

The corner of Elizabeth's mouth turned up. "Good. Then you _do_ understand. Have a nice day, Mrs. Miller." Collecting her documents, she closed them up in her briefcase as Nick gathered his folder and rose.

Before leaving the conference room and Jaycie Miller, hopefully forever, behind, Nick couldn't resist. "Hey, how's Jack doin' in prison, by the way?" he asked. "I bet he's pretty popular. He's got that clean-cut look those fellas just _love_." Smirking arrogantly as Mrs. Miller's face twisted and turned red this time, he followed Elizabeth.

They left the conference room together and were silent until they reached the main floor of the building, where he turned to her. "That went well," he said.

"It went very well," she agreed, her expression and tone all pleasantness again. "Why do you look so tense? You should be skippin' right now."

He searched her eyes for a moment. "I shouldn't have doubted you."

She shook her head, amused. "No, you shouldn't have." He smiled and lowered his gaze to his shoes for a moment. She touched his chin, and he raised it to look at her again. "'Re-evaluated' is not a stamp of approval. It means they start over. It could still be another four to six weeks before the real background check is completed. We still don't know what she did and she did not complete."

"But now I know there's nothing in my way," he said, his voice low.

"And you have a competent lawyer," she reminded him, "instead of that indolent hack your father sent you to."

He chuckled a little and shook his head. "Wasn't his fault, really. I should have known better – I should've known my dad would just ask Billy – my older, more lawyer-ey brother."

"But you'd think your brother would've given you a good referral," she said.

He shook his head. "No – Billy wants kids but his wife doesn't. He and I have this . . . competitive kind of relationship. It started when I started playing baseball and I got good fast. Before that I was the sick but smart one and Billy was the athlete, and when I became the smart athlete . . ." Nick trailed off, shaking his head. "Y'know. Ever since then it's been who can one-up who."

"So when he found out about Cassie, he remembered his lazy, beer-swilling law school chum and thought – hmm, I should tell Nick about this fella."

He chuckled again. "Well, I don't know about all that, but . . . I'm assumin' something like that went on."

"Sabotage," said Elizabeth. "I'm sure he just wanted to annoy you with a lazy attorney, but he should be ashamed as a lawyer _and_ as a brother. But at least Martin's just a bonehead and didn't do any damage. Then I'd _really_ have work to do."

Nick smiled. How much damage would be done by David Martin if he called Billy and talked about what he'd discovered was still undetermined, but at the moment, Nick didn't care much. "Thank you. For everything."

Elizabeth smiled. "You're welcome," she said, biting her lower lip. "You and Cassie have become very special to me." He looked away suddenly, and then his eyes rested on her shoulder. "What is it, Nick?" she whispered.

He traced her shoulder and upper arm slowly with his fingertips as he turned his head to meet her eyes again. "I'm trying to get used to this . . ." He gestured towards her, and then himself, and back again. "This thing we got goin' on. It's kind of a confusing dynamic."

She nodded. "It can be," she agreed.

"You're my lawyer and you're essentially a co-worker, and . . . ." He trailed off, not really knowing what was making his brow knit together.

"And you want to do something but you don't know what?"

That made him smile. "Oh, I know what I want to do," he replied. "It's just not appropriate for the lobby of a municipal building."

Smirking, she replied, "Perhaps distraction is the best strategy here. You do realize we just won?"

It was a good strategy. His heart filled with glee and he nodded. "Yeah – we did, didn't we?" Captivated by the smile in her green eyes, he admired her for a moment before he continued. "Cassie wanted to know how the hearing went, so I'm going to visit her right after school. But . . . why don't you let me buy you dinner? We should celebrate."

She nodded, biting her lip again. "I'd like that."

His brow pushed together suddenly. "Hey, you kicked me," he accused, trying to be offended.

"You were gettin' sassy," she reminded him, hoisting an eyebrow.

His nostrils flared as he took in a breath, drinking in her loveliness. "God, I want to kiss you."

She blushed. "Tonight," she promised. They made arrangements to meet, and he couldn't help leaning in to brush her cheek with his lips before he left the building.

* * *

On his way to his truck, his cell phone rang. It was Warrick, wanting to know the outcome of the hearing. They agreed to meet for a beer, and as soon as they had a couple of cold longnecks in front of them, Nick told him the story, which was brief and to the point: No evidence, case dismissed.

"And that was it?"

"That was it," confirmed Nick, lifting his beer in the air. Warrick lifted his to toast Nick's success.

"Well, congratulations, Nicky," he said, his voice low. "What's next?"

He shrugged. "Do it all over again without the sister of a murderer as a caseworker."

"That's an improvement."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "It sure is."

Warrick shook his head. "You look good, Nick. These last few months, ever since Cassie came back into your life . . . you look like yourself again."

"Like myself?" Nick knew what his friend meant, but was tired of skirting around the incident with his co-workers. "What do you mean?"

Warrick forced himself to swallow and say it. "Like before you were shoved in that box."

Even knowing what Warrick would say did not prepare Nick for the jolt of hearing someone else say what he had been grappling with. Also, he didn't really expect Warrick's raw description of his kidnapping.

"I'm not . . . I'm not the same," he said to Warrick. "I never got justice. No one ever paid for what happened to me. I don't know how to describe it, and I know that everyone thinks that it's all over, it was all over when Sylvia Mullins and Kelly Gordon died, but it wasn't." He took another long swig off his beer, looking away, and then back at Warrick.

"Adopting Cassie doesn't mean it's over, either," replied Warrick. "Doesn't give you justice."

Nick shook his head. "No," he agreed. "No, it doesn't. But what it does mean is that I've found a way to make my peace with it. If all of that had never happened, I would've been right there with you and Sara thinking Cassie was as dead as her parents and she would have died on the shore of the lake."

"I never thought for a minute that we'd find her alive," admitted Warrick. "I didn't have a doubt in my mind that that girl was dead."

"Tell me you're glad you were wrong."

"Never been more glad to be wrong in my life." Warrick sipped his beer. "But I gotta know, Nicky . . . how did you know? What did you think you would find?"

"I don't know, man," he replied, sipping his own beer and shaking his head. "I don't know how I knew – I just did – and I sure didn't expect to find her like I did."

"You did a good thing, Nicky. You're doing a good thing."

Nick nodded. "I know. It's not just for her, though – don't think I don't know that."

Warrick nodded. "Then you're doing a good thing for her and for you." He took a draw off his beer bottle and then grinned at Nick. "Things are gonna change for you, boy," he said. "Your days of playin' the smooth-talkin' Texas ladies' man are over."

Nick just laughed at his friend, looking down at his beer. He was quiet a moment before he asked, as casually as possible, "When's the last time you worked with the DA?"

"I don't know," replied Warrick. "The stalker, I think. Why?"

"Did you ever notice . . . when she gets mad . . . ?"

Warrick grinned at him. He had a pretty good idea of what was on Nick's mind, but wanted to torture him just a little. "What?"

Looking away, trying to be nonchalant, he replied. "You know. She gets . . . ." He cleared his throat and then put his beer to his lips. "Hot."

Warrick laughed. "The DA? You think the _DA_ is hot?"

Nick took slight offense on Elizabeth's behalf. "The DA _is_ hot," he said with a serious expression.

"Oh, I wouldn't tangle with her when she's pissed off, I'll give you that," Warrick admitted. "That's not the same thing as hot."

"Are you sayin' you don't think she's beautiful?"

"Not with _that_ look on your face, I'm not," he replied, still laughing.

Nick, aggravated, met Warrick's eyes as he sipped his beer again. "You know she's beautiful – I've heard you say it before." He looked away for a moment and shook his head. "I thought she was gonna leap over the table and rip that woman to shreds. I've never seen her so angry."

"This is nothing new, you know. Guys love it when chicks fight over them. It's why mud wrestling was invented."

Nick turned to Warrick and looked him in the eyes. "While I appreciate the mental image you've just painted for me of Elizabeth in a bikini, I didn't need the one of Jaycie 'My-Brother's-A-Whore" Miller."

Warrick laughed again. "Aww . . . my Nicky's all grown up. He likes a girl his own age."

"Man, shut up." He tried to pout, but he couldn't help smiling.

Warrick was quiet a moment, finishing off his beer. "Maybe you don't need to be the smooth-talkin' Texas ladies' man anymore," he said.

Nick picked at the label on his now-empty beer bottle. "Oh, I don't know . . . I think it's part of my DNA."

"Yeah . . . we'll have Wendy test your spit for that," said Warrick dryly. He paid for their beers and they left the bar laughing, heading home to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Nick arrived home at close to ten thirty and fell into bed – or, more accurately for Nick, _onto_ bed. He slept solidly for about four hours, his best night's sleep in weeks. As soon as he was showered and dressed – in a tie and dinner jacket in anticipation of his evening with Elizabeth – he headed out to Blue Diamond, stopping on the way to load up Emily's freezer with ice cream for her kids.

Emily let him in. She gave him a long, expressionless look before blinking several times and saying, "She didn't have a good night."

His heart sank a little, but he wasn't too alarmed. "I have some good news for her," he said with a smile. "She'll sleep better tonight."

Emily nodded. "That's good. Why don't you put that away; we'll have it after dinner." This was as much thanks as he was going to get for the ice cream, and as she turned to retrieve Cassie, he went to the kitchen to put it in the freezer.

He was arranging things slightly to fit the three boxes of Dilly Bars when he heard Cassie's soft voice. "Nick?"

He shut the freezer door and turned around. "Hello, Miss McBride," he said with a smile.

"What did the judge say?"

Thinking that she was far too worried about it, he decided to tease her a little bit. He pulled out a kitchen chair for her, and then one for himself. When they were seated, he looked into her big blue eyes and said, as seriously as possible, "The judge said, 'Good morning.'"

Even this, however, was too much for Cassie and she sprang up angrily from her chair. "Don't tease me! Just tell me what he said!"

Nick rose, taking his turn to wear the worried expression. Placing his hands on her slight shoulders, he said sternly, "I was just tryin' to make you smile, Cassie. There's no need to raise your voice like that."

She burst into tears and clung to him. Kicking himself and thinking that this wasn't how he'd hoped the evening would start out, he shushed her as he rubbed her back and petted her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said, still hugging him, when she had quieted.

"It's all right, princess. Miss Emily said you had a bad night," he replied. "Did you get to sleep at all?"

"A little," she whispered.

He pulled back a little and lifted her chin. "About the appeal, Cassie . . . ."

"Yeah?"

He sat down; she remained standing. "When there's a hearing for something like this, the judge doesn't say that someone's guilty or not guilty. He or she has to agree with one side of the argument."

"You said that last night," she said patiently.

"I know. I'm just reminding you."

She smiled a little. "You're a good explainer."

His eyes crinkling at the corners, Nick blushed a little. "Thanks, princess." He paused a minute to tuck her hair behind her ear, and then said, beaming at her, "The judge agreed with me."

"He did?" The way Cassie's eyes lit up with pleasure made all of the worry he'd gone through in the last day worth it.

"Yeah," he said quietly, smiling. "So Mrs. Miller has to give our case to someone else to look at."

When her shoulders started to shake he thought she was laughing, but she put her head on his shoulder and cried. He held her close again, and this time didn't try to shush her. He wondered if he had been too honest with her – no child should have this much stress on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Cassie," he whispered. "I'm sorry about all of this. Maybe I should stop telling you so much."

She shook her head, still buried in his shoulder. "No, Nicky," she said, hiccupping. "You promised you'd always be honest with me." She turned her head to the side, her breathing beginning to calm. "You pinkie-swore."

"I don't want to upset you."

"I don't want to be treated like a baby." She was whispering again, and Nick had learned that this was a clear indication that she was tired. He pulled her onto his lap.

"You should go upstairs and get some sleep."

"I have to finish my homework. Besides Miss Emily is making spaghetti for supper and I'm really hungry." She yawned from his shoulder.

"Oh, that sounds delicious," he replied while thinking the opposite. Emily's spaghetti was decidedly _not_ delicious. He rubbed her back a little, realizing there was a bit of a rumble in his own stomach. This made him think of his dinner companion for the night, and he smiled. "You should've seen Elizabeth this morning," he remarked. "She was _magnificent_."

Cassie sat up. "Did she object a lot?"

"A _ton_," he replied, smiling. "She was our hero today."

"I like Elizabeth," said Cassie matter-of-factly. "I'm glad she's our friend."

He nodded. "That's good – because I was going to wait to tell you this, but I have a surprise for you."

When her lips curled up this time, it reached her eyes. "What is it?"

"You know that house I bought?" Cassie nodded. "It's right next door to Elizabeth's."

Her face lit up again in pleasure and surprise as she realized, "We're going to be neighbors!"

Nick laughed. "That's right," he said. "She says you can play with Ginger every day if you want to."

"That'd be cool," she said, smiling. She was quiet a moment, smiling at Nick. "Do you think . . . anything else . . . ?" she trailed off and looked away, not really knowing how to ask if there was anything else that could go wrong.

"Do I think anything else could get in the way?" he finished for her, smiling. "No, I don't. Cassie, there's nothing that should've gotten in the way in the first place. Mrs. Miller did something wrong, not me. And we have Elizabeth on our side – don't forget that."

"Good," she replied with a tired smile. "I won't."

Nick pet her hair, giving her a squeeze. "She told me today, after the hearing . . . she said that we were very special to her." Nick himself was still trying to process the statement from Elizabeth. He was reluctant to call his own feelings love, but knew he admired her greatly; and while he knew that Elizabeth liked him a great deal, he wasn't completely sure that she thought their relationship was going the same way as he did. Although, her promise of a kiss that evening was a sure step in the right direction.

"Is she your girlfriend?" asked Cassie, eyeing him suspiciously.

He turned pink and chuckled. "It's kind of complicated," he replied.

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Why do adults say everything is complicated? Either she is or she isn't."

He chuckled again, and replied patiently, "It's complicated."

"What does that mean?" she whined. "Yes or no?"

Nick tried to think of something better to say, but couldn't. "Means I don't know, princess. Elizabeth and I have been working together for a long time and I never . . . ." He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"Wanted to kiss her before?" asked Cassie, looking up at him with her big, blue eyes begging for a straight answer.

"Now what makes you think I want to kiss her?" he asked, amused and now very curious.

"I think she wants to kiss you," Cassie said, sitting back down on her own kitchen chair. When Nick asked why, she shrugged. "I don't know . . . she always smiles at you, and stands close to you. And you do want to kiss her because you do the same thing. You make those oogly eyes at her."

"Oogly eyes?"

"Yeah – you know, the ones that look like this." She tilted her head and puckered her lips and made her eyes big and round as she batted her eyelashes.

Nick outright laughed at her, and she had trouble keeping a straight face herself. "I don't look like that," he protested. "You're bein' silly, Casserole."

She giggled. "At least say you like her."

"Fine. I like her." He paused a moment, admiring Cassie's tired but now much happier face. "A lot."

"Good. Because I like her too."

"Good," he said, winking at her. Then he cleared his throat, and knitted his brow before asking, "So . . . if she were my girlfriend . . . ?"

"That would be cool," said Cassie. Then she reached out and straightened his tie. "How come you're all dressed up?"

His cheeks flushed again. "I'm having dinner with Elizabeth," he said, his voice quiet.

She rolled her eyes. "So you're going on a date, but you don't know if she's your girlfriend?" He started to say something in his defense, but she interrupted, shaking her head. "Maybe you'll find out."

"And how do you think I'll know?" he asked, a teasing smile on his face.

She thought a moment. "Well . . . I think if she holds your hand, then she's your girlfriend. Oh, and if you guys kiss. But not that French kissing, because that's gross."

Nick's eyebrow shot up. "And . . . what do you know about French kissing?"

"You know – when someone puts their tongue in your mouth. Robbie says he French kissed a girl one time," she said matter-of-factly. "But he also said you can only learn to do that in France, and he's never been there."

"Well, you need to stay away from Robbie and any other boys who talk about French kissing," he said sternly. "_Far_ away."

"Well, Robbie stopped calling me Casserole, but I still don't like him so it doesn't matter. Besides, only weirdoes want to lick other people."

"That's right," he replied, again while thinking the opposite. "It's not sanitary. And . . . it's inappropriate. And you know what, Cassie – if anyone tries anything like that with you, you kick him."

"That's what Miss Emily said," she replied, amused. "She said to kick them hard!"

"Well, finally Miss Emily and I agree on something," he said. "Hey, you don't have any boys making oogly eyes at you, do you?"

"No," she replied. "But a couple of them pull my hair."

Nick's face turned serious. "Kick them next time."

"How come?"

"Just kick them, Cassie. Hard."

She shrugged. "Okay."

He nodded. "That's a good girl. Do you need any help with your homework?"

"No, it's all pretty easy."

"All right – I need to meet Elizabeth in a few minutes, so I'm going to go. I brought Dilly Bars for you guys."

She smiled. "Thanks, Nickelbee!"

He rose and kissed her temple. "See you Saturday?"

"Yep!" Springing up from her seat, she took his hand and walked him to his truck. Before he climbed in, she kissed the back of his hand gently and said somberly, "I'm glad everything's working out."

"You'll be home before you know it," he said, bending down to hug her. "Don't worry any more, princess. Elizabeth and I . . . we'll make this happen. I promise."

She held up her pinkie. He smiled and linked his with it. With one more kiss on the forehead, she turned back into the house to finish her homework and he climbed into his truck, heading back to Las Vegas for his dinner with Elizabeth.

* * *

Waiting in the lobby at the Bellagio, Nick tugged at the wrists of his dinner jacket, straightening it out. Adjusting his tie, he looked around, hoping to see Elizabeth. His eyes, instead, caught Sara Sidle's as she walked into the lobby, carefully looking around for someone as well. He called her name.

She smiled brightly. "Hey, Nick," she greeted, walking over to him. "You look like a million bucks."

"You're not so bad yourself," he replied, looking over her, clad in a flattering deep purple dress. "What's the occasion?"

She blushed. "Oh . . . no occasion. Just dinner with a friend."

He smiled. "You really can't lie, Sara."

She laughed a little and looked away briefly. "I am going to take that as a compliment and change the subject. What are _you_ all dressed up for?"

"Dinner with a friend," he replied cheekily.

She raised an eyebrow as she grinned. "A date, Nicky?"

"Yeah, a _date_." A slight blush covered his cheeks. "I do have _some_ semblance of a personal life." As he made this statement, a flash of deep brown hair on the other side of the lobby doors caught his attention, and he looked past Sara's shoulder to see Elizabeth, her long hair loose, gliding through a door which the doorman held open. She was dressed in a dark blue chiffon dress with wide, beaded black lace under the bust line and at the hem, which fell just short of her knees. His cheeks flushed and his smile deepened as he raised a hand to catch her attention.

"Hello," she said in greeting as she approached, smiling.

Sara's surprise was evident, and she sputtered a bit. "Elizabeth," she said, "how are you?"

"Hey Sidle," replied Elizabeth, "I'm fine. You?"

"I'm fine," Sara said, giving Nick a significant look.

"It's nice to see you – you look lovely."

"Oh – thanks," replied Sara, smiling and looking down at the dress she would never admit to anyone that she spent hours picking out. "Dinner with a friend."

"She won't say who it is, but I'm sure it's not just any old friend," teased Nick. "She's wearing heels."

"I'm surprised you noticed," replied Sara, flustered for more than one reason.

"I'm a CSI, Sar – I notice everything."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," she replied dryly.

Politely, Elizabeth inquired, "Would you like us to wait for your date with you?"

"No," she said, hoping it wasn't too quickly. "It's kind of you to offer, but it's all right. You just go enjoy yourselves."

"Are you sure? 'Cuz it's no problem; we'd be happy to wait."

Nick's offer was genuine and she wished she could accept it, but she couldn't. "No . . . it's okay, Nicky. Go on. But thanks."

Nick nodded and offered his arm to Elizabeth. She accepted it with a smile and wished Sara a good evening. Sara smiled as they turned into the hotel, heading in the direction of Picasso. She turned back toward the doors of the hotel, hoping he would be just a little late, for once.

A moment later, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned toward its owner with a big smile. To her surprise, yet again, it was Nick.

"Sorry to disappoint, Sar," he said with a little grin as he watched her face fall. "I just want to ask you something."

"Sure – go ahead."

His face turned serious. "I'm just wondering . . . you don't want me to meet this guy, and you haven't mentioned that you're seeing anyone, so I was thinkin' . . . you're not seeing Hank again, are you?"

She knew she should be annoyed at the intrusion, but she couldn't help but be touched at his concern. He knew that Hank had hurt her and he didn't want her to be hurt again. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "No . . . I upgraded. Considerably."

Nick smiled at the flush in her cheeks. "I'm glad to hear it. You have a good time tonight, OK?" She nodded; he patted her shoulder and walked away again.

While Nick was chatting with Sara, Elizabeth had walked down the hallway to claim the table Nick had reserved for them. She was sitting in a quiet corner of the dimly-lit waiting area when he caught up with her. Sitting next to her, he took her hand in his and dropped an impromptu kiss on the back of it. "You look stunning," he said, smiling at her.

She blushed. "Thank you," she replied, chuckling. "You look nice, too. I like that tie on you."

He smoothed his tie against his chest. "I think I got this one from Audra."

"Makes your eyes stand out," she said. "You really have nice eyes."

Now it was Nick's turn to blush. "Thanks," he said, looking down at their hands. The sight made him think of Cassie's remarks earlier in the afternoon, and he chuckled.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Is that funny?"

"No," he said, waving his free hand. "I'm sorry; I was just thinking of something Cassie said today."

"How is she?" asked Elizabeth, leaning in closer. "I bet she welcomed the good news."

He nodded, his face turning a bit more serious. "Yeah, she's all right now. She didn't sleep last night . . . she still has nightmares about what happened, and I think whenever she gets nervous or insecure they flare up."

"That makes sense," replied Elizabeth somberly. "It was the night her whole life changed; of course she thinks of that night, even subconsciously, when she's unsure of what's going to happen to her. I was well into my teens before mine stopped."

Nick knitted his brow, tilting his head. "Why did you have nightmares?"

She paused a moment. "Well . . . you know, my own parents were murdered."

He nodded, thinking back to the day she'd met Cassie and how the angry little girl had been soothed by the fact that Elizabeth could relate on some level to what she was going through. "Yeah, I remember."

"I was . . . there. I saw my dad . . . ." She trailed off, not wanting her past to be a topic of conversation during what she hoped would be a very romantic evening. "Anyway – I was five, and as I said, it was a good ten years before my nightmares stopped."

He looked horrified. "You think she'll have them for that long?"

"Oh – probably not. I mean, back then, they didn't put kids in therapy much. They didn't bother with me. I never slept and was very short-tempered because of it, but I just got labeled as mean. I didn't know how it felt to be well-rested until I was in my twenties. But Cassie's had _some_ level of psychotherapy, hasn't she?"

Nick shook his head ruefully. "I don't think she has," he replied. "It probably would've been best when she was first released from the hospital, but I don't know if Brackett ever did anything. I know she's not in any kind of therapy now – Emily says she was evaluated by a DFS psychologist, but they didn't seem to think she needed any help."

She squeezed his hand. "But you feel differently."

"I _know_ differently," he said gently. "But listen – tonight, we're celebrating, so no more of this serious stuff. Besides, you promised me a kiss, and I plan to hold you to your word at least once."

Smiling, her eyes started to twinkle. "Just once?"

"Once an hour."

Elizabeth looked at her watch. "I'm behind schedule, then," she replied. Placing her right hand on his left cheek, she leaned toward him, stretching up, to leave a sweet but chaste kiss on his lips.

The connection was brief but took his breath away. His head followed hers when she sat back again. He slowly opened his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. "How 'bout once every ten minutes?"

She chuckled. "Sure." Absently, she traced his lower lip with her thumb. "Although, technically, the promise I made was to let _you_ kiss _me_."

"My apologies," he said, and without a moment's hesitation pressed his lips against hers. She tilted her head, an invitation for him to move closer, and he took her left hand in his right as he placed his free hand on the small of her back. Like a flash he remembered how much he missed this business of kissing and he was discovering that kissing Elizabeth was pure bliss. His movements were gentle, as unrushed as hers had been, and he kissed her several times before he pulled back enough to touch the tip of their noses together. "Elizabeth . . . ."

"Mr. Stokes?"

His name coming from the host's lips as he smiled obliviously at the cuddling couple was like a splash of cold water, and he sucked in a breath as he turned toward it. "Yeah . . . yeah, that's me."

Jeffrey, the host, smiled. "Right this way, please." He gestured toward the dining room. Nick reluctantly stood, helping Elizabeth to her feet, and tightened his grip on her hand as they followed.

Both Nick and Elizabeth were quiet until they had been seated. Jeffrey pulled out Elizabeth's chair for her; Nick sat to her right and took the wine list from him, which he offered to Elizabeth. "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked.

"Do you prefer whites or reds?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow quizzically.

"Oh – none for me," he replied, shaking his head. "I have to work tonight."

Elizabeth handed the wine list back to the patiently waiting Jeffrey. "We'll skip the wine tonight," she said with a smile.

Nick smiled apologetically at Elizabeth when the host had walked away. "I'm sorry about that – you should've gotten a glass of wine for yourself."

"Nonsense," she replied brightly, waving a hand and smiling at him. "That would've been rude. I'll have my chance to get you drunk, but for tonight . . . I understand."

And the thing about Elizabeth that was different from many of the women Nick had dated was that she _did_ understand. "I know you do."

She placed her right hand on the table, palm up, inviting. He looked at it, thinking again of Cassie's remarks about holding hands. He placed his hand on top of hers, smiling as their fingers intertwined. "Cassie asked me if you were my girlfriend."

Elizabeth chuckled. "What did you say?"

"I said it was complicated," he answered, looking at their hands.

"It doesn't have to be, Nick," she said quietly.

He smiled, still looking at their hands. "That's kind of what she said." He swallowed, looking slowly up at her. "She said you were my girlfriend if you held my hand and we kissed."

She cleared her throat and admired his crinkled eyes. "We've done both," she replied. "I guess that makes me your girlfriend."

He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "Is that what you want to be?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "It is, Nick. It has been, for a while." She looked at her lap a moment, where her free hand was fidgeting with the creases in the skirt of her dress, and then back at Nick. "The day Luke Daniels was sentenced . . . the day you brought Cassie to the courthouse cafeteria to talk to me, I saw something in you I'd never seen before. You're an excellent criminalist and I've always respected you professionally, but I'd never seen you as anything else. That day . . . the way you comforted Cassie, the way you wanted to protect her . . . I realized what a good man you must be, and in the last couple of months I've witnessed it. I really admire the man that you are, and . . . I want-"

He hated it, but he was blushing and didn't know what to say. He squeezed her hand again to encourage her.

She chuckled and looked away, feeling silly. "Sorry . . . I didn't mean to go on like that."

"Don't be sorry," he replied, his voice low. She turned to look back at him and found his eyes smiling at her. "Tell me what you want."

With a flick of her eyes she was looking at her skirt again. "I just want to know you." She cleared her throat gently and then looked back up at him. "What about you?" she asked, her voice quiet and, to her own ears, insecure. "I mean . . . do you . . . are you . . . where do you see this going?"

"Is 'back home to my bedroom' an acceptable answer?" he asked, his glittering brown eyes and smirking lips partially hidden by her hand, which he was still holding, her knuckles pressed against his cheek.

She grinned. "It's a very forward answer," she replied.

Once more he kissed her knuckles, and set her hand back on the table. "I've always thought you were beautiful," he admitted, "but for me, the moment that I realized that you were more than the DA was when you introduced Cassie to Ginger."

Her smile deepened. "Really?"

"Yeah," he replied simply. "I don't know what it was. I just remember watching you reassure her and thinking that I never noticed how gentle you really are."

She laughed. "That's because I'm _not_ gentle, Nick – not at work. Not by a long shot."

His eyes twinkling, he thought of her that morning, how her placid face had turned almost demonic once Judge Parker had left the room. Her cheeks had turned pink, her brow creased, and her pupils dilated. "Where else are you not gentle, Elizabeth?" he asked.

"Oh, Nicholas," she admonished teasingly, "you don't really expect me to give away all my secrets on the first date, do you?"

He smiled. "No, I guess not," he replied quietly, but not truly disappointed. "But hey, it's been ten minutes."

"Actually, it's been more than ten minutes," she replied, "and I charge interest."

The look on her face – the impertinent grin, the lift of her brow – made his eyes darken. It had been a long time – longer than he cared to admit – since he had shared a bed with a woman. Although this wasn't the first time he thought of Elizabeth in that way, sitting in the dimly-lit restaurant, the soft music floating over them, the flick of the candle on their table, and that look on her beautiful face, he thought of intimacy with her for the first time as a real possibility, as something they both wanted.

He turned her hand over in his and lifted her palm to his lips. Once he had kissed it, he pulled her closer and kissed her wrist, allowing the alluring scent of her perfume to draw him nearer.

Their foreheads, their noses, and then their lips met, and although Nick had wanted to wait for a more intimate setting for a more intimate kiss, he couldn't resist drawing her bottom lip between his and running his tongue over it. Her sharp intake of breath reminded him that now was not the place or time to devour her, and though he relinquished her lip, he kissed it gently several times and did not move his forehead from hers. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to get carried away."

"No you're not." She raised her lips to his forehead and left a peck there. "Yes you did."

"Guilty as charged," he replied, swallowing, and met her glittering emerald eyes. "For the record, I'd really like it if you were my girlfriend."

Elizabeth smiled, chuckling a little. "Excellent. Now all we need is a piece of notebook paper with 'yes' and 'no' checkboxes."

"Is that kind of thing legally binding?" asked Nick teasingly.

"I'm not sure. It's not my field of expertise."

The waiter interrupted them then with an offer to take their order. Since neither one of them had cracked the cover of their menus, they sheepishly asked for another moment, made their decisions, and sent the waiter on his way.

Sitting rather closer than most couples in the dining room, Elizabeth and Nick held hands through their dinner. Their conversation covered a range of topics, from Nick's very large family to Elizabeth's experiences as a very young lawyer. When they walked out of the Bellagio, both of them feeling relaxed and cozy with each other despite the lack of alcohol, it was to realize that they had driven there separately.

"I'll make you coffee," offered Elizabeth, her disappointment masked by the bright smile on her face. She handed her claim ticket to the valet, and he did the same, turning to her.

He curled his fingers around hers and pulled her close. "I'd like that. I'll be right on your heels."

"Good." She was smiling, enjoying her proximity to him. "Bring that drawl with you."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, laughing at her. "It kinda goes with me everywhere I go."

She laughed back, blushing. "It's sexy."

He lowered his mouth to her ear. "So are you." He felt her hands on his chest, running up underneath his jacket, and he took her earlobe between his lips and sucked gently.

"Nick . . ."

He let go and nuzzled her ear with his lips. "Lizabeth?" he drawled.

"You have to work tonight."

He sighed, his warm breath caressing her ear. "I know." He feathered light kisses across her cheek until he reached her lips, which he kissed softly. "I don't want to."

She smiled up at him. "Coffee," she whispered. "I'll make you coffee . . . and maybe . . . tomorrow, when you wake up, you can bring that housewarming wine over."

"That would be perfect," he replied, caressing her cheek with his fingertips. He was painfully aware of the valet walking toward them. "I'll see you in a few minutes." His eyes floated over her lips; he wanted to kiss them again, but resisted and instead led her gallantly to her car, kissing her fingertips as she got inside.

* * *

Nick parked his truck in her driveway and slid out, taking the roses from the passenger's seat with him. Affixed to her front door was a sticky note: "The door's open – Ginger's sleeping, so shhh…"

He slipped in quietly, closing the door behind him. He followed the scent of brewing coffee to the kitchen, where she was just filling the pot of a brightly colored coffee set. "Where'd you go?" she asked, her eyes fixed on her task.

Smiling, he waited until she was finished pouring coffee and then wordlessly handed her the tissue-wrapped roses.

She chuckled, setting down the coffee decanter. "Oh, you are smooth, Stokes," she said as she took the roses. "I guess you think you're going to get a kiss now."

"I was hopin'," he replied.

She left a peck on his cheek as she crossed the kitchen to retrieve a vase from underneath the sink. "Thanks," she tossed over her shoulder, smirking cheekily.

"Hey, you know, I had to go all the way back into the hotel for those," he said, leaning against the counter.

"Poor baby." She unwrapped the roses, examining their stems as she filled the vase. As she arranged the flowers to her liking, Nick stood behind her, admiring the backs of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her head dipped to tend to her work.

Once she was satisfied with the roses, she picked up the vase and walked into the living room to set it on her coffee table. Then she was back, smirking, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing his chin. "Thank you for the roses," she said sincerely. "That was really sweet of you."

"My pleasure," he replied, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Coffee?"

"Yes."

She moved to pick up the tray; he felt cold as soon as she did and followed her to the living room. He sat down and watched as she poured him a cup of coffee. When she sat back, she held out the cup, balanced on its saucer. "Cream or sugar?" she asked solicitously.

_Yours_, he thought, but simply shook his head. "No, thanks." He accepted the cup, sipping as he smiled at her. "You look sleepy."

"I am," she admitted. "It was a long day, and a beautiful evening, and I'm still stuffed."

"So will you sleep well tonight?" He sipped again, and then set his cup down on the coffee table.

"Yes," she replied, "I will." His hands now free, his left hand reached for hers. She gladly bestowed them, and he moved closer, using his right hand to brush her hair off her shoulders and caress her left ear.

"I like these."

She smiled. "You have an ear fetish?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head and flitting his thumb over the outside of her ear. "I like _your_ ears. I also like _your_ chin . . . and _your_ nose . . . and this spot between _your_ . . . beautiful eyes." As he spoke he kissed each part of her face.

She set her palm against his cheek and moved closer. "Nick . . . you've been teasing me all night. Kiss me like you mean it."

He needed no further invitation. Grabbing her under the arms, he pulled her onto his lap, moving her legs so that she straddled him, and wound his fingers into her hair as he pulled her down to crush her lips with his. His tongue slid between her willingly parted lips and as her own tongue moved to meet his, he let out a low groan, almost a growl. "Lizabeth . . ."

"Call me Lizzy," she said breathlessly as their kisses continued, deepening.

"Lizzy," he whispered, almost in relief, as he moved his mouth to her ear again. He suckled the earlobe, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure, and then ran his tongue up the outside of her ear, and left a kiss at the top. "Lizzy," he breathed again, searing a path with his lips down her neck to her collarbone as his hands released her hair and slid down her back. "I mean it."

Her skirt had hiked up when he pulled her across his lap and he teased the hem that rested on her thighs as she cupped his face in her hands and pressed warm, full-lipped kisses onto his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, and his eyelids. "Then kiss me again," she entreated.

The next thing she knew she was on her back and he was laying between her legs, using his left arm to hold himself up and splaying the fingers of his right hand across her left thigh. She quivered as he began to move his fingertips up and down her leg lightly, making gooseflesh. He kissed each of her lips once gently before diving in again, exploring the tastes and textures of her mouth with his own as she feathered her fingers in his clipped hair and very enthusiastically answered every caress of his lips and tongue.

With every fiber of his being just then all he wanted to do was pull her dress over her head and go find her bedroom. He was seriously considering calling in sick – something he didn't do even if he was _actually_ sick – when he heard his name whispered between his kisses.

"_Nicky_," she finally stressed breathlessly, her voice stern yet gentle. He stopped kissing, but didn't move away. "You have to work," she murmured, her eyes closed, "and when we do this – _when_, Nicky – I want you to stay."

"Stay?" He opened his eyes and kissed her chin. "Stay here."

"Yes," she replied, laughing a little. "Sleep next to me."

"Sleep next to you," he repeated, kissing her lips again. He sat up, pulling her with him. She nuzzled his neck, and when he laid his head back against the couch cushions, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and ran her index finger in a line down from his chin to his Adam's apple. "Lizzy . . ."

"Yes?" she whispered, ignoring the warning in his tone as she pressed a fat wet kiss to the hollow of his throat. "Say it again, Nicky."

"Say what?" His hands found her hips and started slowly pulling her dress over them.

"My name," she whispered as she traced the column of his throat with her lips.

"Lizzy . . ."

The soft, slow buzzing of his throat as he pronounced the 'z' sound made her smile. "Mmm . . ." She opened her mouth and pressed it against his Adam's apple, suckling gently.

His hands were under her dress, exploring. "I have an hour before I'm technically late," he said, his voice low.

"No, Nicky," she replied, sitting back on his lap. "It's not enough time. I want you to sleep next to me."

"But your skin is so soft and warm," he said, his eyes lingering on her décolletage, "and I haven't even met the girls yet."

She laughed, placing her hands on both of his cheeks. "You'll meet them, I promise."

"You're stuck on this sleeping thing, huh?"

"Yeah. Old war wound."

He had a pretty good idea of what she referred to, and he smiled gently. "I see," he replied. "I, uh . . . I have some war wounds myself." It wasn't the same war, but the nightmares were wounds nonetheless, and if he wanted an intimate relationship with her, he was going to have to tell her about them.

She smiled back at him. "We can talk about them over that wine," she said.

Nodding, he smiled at her. "Okay," he whispered, because it really was – because this was Elizabeth, who understood what he did and why it was so important; this was Elizabeth, who adored Cassie; this was Elizabeth, who knew about Kristy and didn't think less of him. Relinquishing her soft and warm skin, he straightened her skirt and moved his hands to her face to pull her toward him much more gently than the first time to kiss her soundly.

Her eyes were dark when he pulled away to look into them. "You're a hell of a kisser, Stokes," she said breathlessly, using his surname to attempt to cool things off a little. He smiled up at her, and she reluctantly found her feet. "Are you going to want to go home and change?"

"No, he whispered, standing at her cue. "I'll just take off my jacket and tie."

"Let me put this coffee in a travel mug for you," she said. "I won't drink it – it's too late, and it'd be a shame if it went to waste."

He agreed, and lifted the tray himself to carry it into her kitchen. Once she had poured the coffee into the one mug she could find that didn't obviously belong to a woman, she handed it to him with a smile.

"Thank you," he replied. She led him to her door by the hand, opening it and stepping out into the clear, warm evening. Holding her hand, he let her walk in front of her so he could admire her backside.

"Your dress is wrinkled."

She opened the door of his truck. "_You_ wrinkled it," she deadpanned.

"I didn't say I didn't like it wrinkled," he said, the twinkle in his eye again. He kissed her forehead when she blushed. "I'll see you tomorrow . . . Lizzy."

She nodded, biting her lip. "Bring that drawl again, would you?"

He winked. "You got it." He climbed into the truck, and as he started it, rolled down the window. He beckoned her forward with a crooked finger.

She was expecting the kiss that she got and made it last as long as possible, but the unfortunate and nagging need to breathe ultimately won out and they parted. She said nothing, but stepped back again and waved. "Sleep well," he said before turning around to back the truck out of the driveway.

Elizabeth knew it would be another cold shower and cold bed for her that night, but reasoned that at the very least, she had thoughts of wine and her roses to keep her company.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	16. Chapter 16

"What I don't understand is this," said Nick, pointing to a white cake of soap which had been left at a crime scene without any trace evidence of the crime on it. "Soap's soft, if you drop it it's gonna dent. This had to have been _placed_ in the blood spatter, but why?"

"I don't know – a message, maybe? Clean up your act, clean up your mess . . . I don't know."

Nick walked around the table in the evidence room, standing next to Catherine to examine what they had collected from a scene a few days prior, of which they couldn't make heads or tails at the time. They'd decided to review it again that evening without much luck. He reached for the bar of soap and picked it up, turning it over in his gloved hands to examine the bottom.

Catherine leaned closer to him and inhaled deeply. "I believe that's Chanel," she commented with a smirk.

Nick gave her a confused look. "The soap? It's just a bar of Ivory, Catherine."

"Her perfume," corrected Catherine pointedly. "Or is that yours?"

He moved his eyes to the table. "It's not mine."

"Whose is it?"

He grinned. "Not tellin'."

"Aw, c'mon, Nick. You can't even tell _me_?"

"You act like you don't have any idea," he said, and as soon as the words came out of his mouth his smile melted. Catherine still didn't have any idea about Cassie, and he needed to fill her in. "Hey, Cath . . . there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. Could we go to your office or something?"

"Sure," she said with a nod. "We're not getting anywhere here anyway – we don't even have a body. Won't know whose blood this is until we hear from Wendy."

Once they had cleaned up the room, Nick followed her to her office and sat down in the chair she gestured to. "What's up, Nicky?"

"You remember . . . the case we worked in Pioche, the McBride murder?"

Catherine nodded, smiling. "Yeah. You got to be a hero."

He looked away. "Yeah, I guess I did. Listen, Catherine . . . I uh, I should've told you this sooner, but I have some news for you."

She waited until he met her eyes again. "Bad news?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Good news."

"Well, out with it, Nick."

He nodded, and then cleared his throat. "I'm in the process of adopting their daughter."

Catherine was stunned. "Adopting?"

Nodding again, he continued. "This is why I bought a house. It's why my sister came to see me, why my parents came to visit . . . I'm adopting Cassie."

"Nick, she's a victim of a crime you handled – you shouldn't be having _lunch_ with her."

He shook his head. "No, it's all right – litigation's all wrapped up. Case closed – I've talked it out with a few people."

"Who?" she demanded.

"Well, Grissom," he replied, trying to ignore her confrontational tone. "The DA."

"I see." Catherine nodded, and he could tell she was trying to come up with something to say. "So . . . you're going to be a dad?"

Smiling, he nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Instead of smiling back, she sighed. "Nicky . . . are you sure you know what you're doing?" He wished she had not, but she said it in the condescending tone he knew and hated.

"Yes," he replied, his patience fizzling. He glared at Catherine. "I know what I'm doing. I know what I'm committing to. Catherine, I'm not-"

"Did you ever consider talking this out with anyone who's _actually_ a parent?"

"Don't judge me," he spat. "Just because I don't pretend to have all the answers like _you_ do doesn't mean that I'm not capable."

"I don't pretend to have all the answers, Nick. I've just been there."

He sighed and felt his shoulders ache with tension. "Your lack of respect and confidence have been noted, OK?" He rose to leave her office.

"Nick, it's not that I don't respect you," she said.

"Coulda fooled me, Cath!" He didn't like the sharpness of his own tone, but being questioned and second-guessed was really getting old.

"You don't have any idea what it's like being a parent at all, and now you're going to single-handedly raise a pre-teen? Working the graveyard shift? Are you sure you're not just trying to be a hero again? I mean, I know you're an over-grown Boy Scout, but actually _adopting_ a victim is a little over the top, don't you think?"

"An overgrown _Boy Scout_?" he snapped, as forcefully as he dared to, with the mean, angry look he knew he sported a little too much. "What the hell, Catherine?"

"Nick-"

But Catherine's insult had pushed Nick over the edge, and his voice hitched up another notch as his Texan drawl came out in full force. "No, this is bullshit, and I'm tired of fuckin' fightin' over this – y'all can kiss my ass if you don't have my back." He turned to leave, but wasn't finished. He turned back and got as close to Catherine as he had ever gotten – had she been a man, he would have been right up against her, poking an angry finger into her chest. "If I'd gotten some random woman pregnant you'd be over the God damn moon, Catherine, but I wanna save one little girl from an over-crowded and corrupt foster care system and I got DFS tellin' me I'm a creep, and you tellin' me I can't do it. I don't need this fuckin' _bullshit_."

His anger surprised her, and she retorted, "And when you figure out that being a parent isn't what you expected it to be, what are you going to do? Give her back?"

Nick silently fumed for a moment. "You know what, Catherine? To hell with you." He slammed the door as he left her office, storming down the corridor.

A while later he was back in the evidence room working with Sara on a different case when Warrick walked in. "Hey, Nick – can we talk?"

"'Bout what?" he asked, his eyes on his task.

Warrick's eyes flicked to Sara, who rumpled her brow. "About your conversation with Catherine?"

Nick looked up at Warrick. "What do you know about that?"

"I know you should've told her about Cassie a long damn time ago."

He held up a finger. "I don't need this from you, too, Warrick."

"What'd she say, Nick?" asked Sara. Having been on the receiving end of Catherine's anger in the past, she could easily identify with how easy it would've been to bite back if she'd taken a chunk out of him.

"She called me an overgrown boy scout and told me I didn't know what I was doin'. Maybe I shoulda told her about Cassie sooner, but I didn't deserve that."

Warrick held up his hands in surrender. "All right . . . I don't want to get in the middle, Nick. I just know she's all in a fuss."

"And that's my fault? I'm the one who got abused by a woman I've been working with for ten years!"

Sara put a hand on his arm. "She's probably upset, Nick," she said, trying a soothing tone.

"So that excuses her? I'm upset, too, but I didn't insult her."

"No, but you swore at her," Warrick pointed out.

"You're not helpin'," said Nick.

"I didn't say she shouldn't have said what she said," replied Sara, moving between Nick and Warrick. "But she probably feels like you kept it from her on purpose. I mean . . . I know it's easy to believe she doesn't have any feelings sometimes – trust me, I _know_ – but when people are hurt they get irrational. Just give her some time to cool off, and then maybe apologize for the swears."

His eyebrows knit in frustration, he moved the mean, angry look from Sara to Warrick. "I don't see either of you havin' this conversation with Catherine," he spat. "Y'all know as well as I do that if I march back down to her office all she's gonna do is take another chunk outta my ass; doesn't matter what I say."

"That's why you give her time to cool off, Nick," said Warrick.

"She _doesn't_ cool off, Warrick," said Nick, not bothering to keep his voice down. "And why're you so hot to defend her?"

"Look, I'm sorry . . . I don't want to defend anyone. Like I said, she's just upset. Sara's right; she's hurt. Maybe if you go explain why you didn't tell her when you told the rest of us it'll do some good."

Sara put her hand on his arm again. "I don't think Warrick's saying you should back down."

"I'll go talk to Catherine," offered Warrick. "This morning before you leave go talk to her. I can't make any promises, but I'll do what I can."

Nick nodded. "All right. But I'm not makin' any promises either." Sara smiled and rubbed his arm, patting it warmly.

Warrick nodded. "All right . . . I'll see you guys later."

"Hey, Warrick – wait a minute."

It was Sara's voice; he turned around. "Yeah?"

"Did you know that the DA wears Chanel?" She turned her nose into the thoroughly embarrassed Nick's shoulder and sniffed pointedly. "Number Five, if I'm not mistaken."

Warrick's eyes lit up, and he laughed at Nick.

"She's just jealous because you can't smell her date's cologne on her," replied Nick pointedly.

"Maybe I had enough time and blood in my brain to think about changing my clothes," teased Sara.

"Aw, she got you!" laughed Warrick.

Beet red, Nick turned back to the evidence table. "I hate you both."

Warrick thumped his back. "You love us, Nicky," he said, and then left the room.

That morning, Nick knocked on Catherine's office door, which had been left wide open. When she looked up, she smiled slightly. "What can I do for you, Nick?"

"You got a minute?" he asked.

"Depends. Are you going to swear at me?" she asked as he sat down.

"No." He had the good grace to look sheepish. "Actually . . . I wanted to apologize for that."

She nodded. "Okay. Apology accepted."

"I'm sorry for blowing up at you . . . you didn't deserve that. But Catherine, I don't deserve your doubt. This is good for me, and it's good for Cassie, and I'm not saying I can do it by myself, but I can do it."

She was quiet for a moment, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile. "I know you can, Nicky," she replied softly. "I'm sorry. I don't doubt you, Nick; I just know how hard it is."

Nick returned her smile and sighed gently in relief as the tension left his shoulders. "You know, this whole process has been . . . crazy. I had every intention of talking to you a long time ago, but it was never the right time . . . either we were working a scene, or Ecklie was around . . . I didn't not tell you because I didn't want you to know. I _did_ want you to know."

"Then why didn't you just tell me? Something big like this happens in your life and apparently the whole lab needs to know, except me?"

"I really didn't mean for it to happen that way. There were some complications, and getting through those was tough enough. I've been more or less fighting with DFS for two months – you know, a single guy who wants to adopt a little girl is guilty of being a creep until he's proven innocent."

"I would happily have been a reference for you, Nick." When she said this, he could see that she really _was_ hurt.

"I know I _could_ have come to you," replied Nick. "In my defense, I listed you as a reference when I sat down with my lawyer to fill out the documents – it's him that crossed your name off the list."

"And who is this genius?"

"David Martin," replied Nick.

Catherine smiled. "Oh, Nicky," she said. "No wonder you had trouble. That guy's as dense as they come."

Nick raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. "You _know_ this guy?"

"Yeah. My first divorce attorney. He decided to become buddies with Eddie instead."

"Well _Jesus_, Catherine, if I'd known that-"

"You would've if you'd talked to me," she pointed out.

Nick shook his head. "Unbelievable. I went to my dad to ask for a referral, he went to my brother, and I wound up with a hack who I could've gotten from down the hall."

"Give me _some_ credit. I would've given you a good referral – and a glowing reference."

He smiled. "Thank you, Catherine. To be honest, though, I'm not sure it would've made a difference. When I initially filed, my . . ." he cleared his throat as he searched for the right words, "my _involvement_ with Kristy Hopkins raised some eyebrows. Martin dropped my case."

"Rumor has it that Elizabeth Halles picked it up."

Nick blushed. "Yeah, she did."

"Does she wear Chanel?" asked Catherine, a sly smile on her face.

He rubbed his eyes in fatigue, chuckling. "Whatever she wears, it smells good." He looked up at her then, glad for what he'd always considered her sisterly friendship.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Nick?" she asked, a hopeful tone to her voice.

He thought for a moment and was about to shake his head, until he remembered the furniture that was still sitting in the middle of Cassie's still unpainted room. "Yeah . . . there is," he replied. "I need help with her room."

"Her room?"

"Yeah. I mean, I got her furniture and whatnot, but I don't know how to decorate a girl's room. Maybe you and Lindsey can help me out."

She smiled gleefully. "Go shopping with your credit card? I'm all over that, Nicky."

"I figured you wouldn't mind," he said with a grin. "Just be gentle, all right?"

"We'll see. What does she like?"

He cleared his throat. "Pink," he admitted. "She likes pink. She likes to read . . . she plays catch with me, but I don't tvhink she's really into sports."

"You got a girly girl," smiled Catherine. "Lucky you."

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah . . . I _am_ lucky." And for the first time in a very long while, he felt lucky.

* * *

There was a sticky note affixed to Elizabeth's door when she returned home on Friday evening.

"_Me and my wine are at my house."_

Smiling, she removed the note and went inside to deposit her purse and briefcase. She checked Ginger's water bowl and let her outside for a few moments while she went through her mail, and as soon as the big dog showed the slightest inkling of coming inside, she opened the patio door, pet her on the head, and left again.

Nick already had a come-hither smirk on his face when he answered the door. "Love the power suit," he commented when he saw her, a come-hither smirk already spread across his face.

"It's my most powerful," she replied, smoothing the front of her black pin-striped suit.

He invited her in and kissed her as he closed the door in her wake. "How was your day?" he asked solicitously.

"It was a day," she replied. "Two juries came in today and we got a rape conviction, but nothing on the double homicide in Henderson. Disappointing."

It was a lot more than disappointing, and no one knew that better than Nick. "I'm sorry." He kissed her again, this time on the forehead, and then took her hand to lead her into the house.

"Me, too." The warmth of his hand holding hers went a long way to soothe her wounds, however, and with such a balm applied, she was distracted from her frustration. "It looks good in here," she commented as they walked through the house, squeezing his hand. "You're getting settled."

"Yeah . . . you could almost call me domesticated."

She laughed as they walked into the kitchen, where a spicy-sweet aroma wafted to her nose. "Are you cooking?"

He smirked. "Well, you like my Texan drawl," he replied, "so I figured you might like some Texan food."

Elizabeth was delighted, her feelings of failure forgotten, at least for a while. "You can cook!"

"Now, don't get your hopes up, little lady – my mama taught me how to make brownies and chili and that's about as good as it gets."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Has your accent gotten thicker?" she teased.

He blushed a little. "It might've, actually," he admitted. "I been talkin' to Audra off and on all day."

Elizabeth's body was already beginning to relax. "So you made me chili?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did, and you won't find a more authentic bowl of red outside of Texas. If you don't believe me, you can ask Bobby Dawson. He fixes the Christmas gift exchange every year so I get him, and all he ever wants is a pot of this right here." He pointed proudly at the pot on his stove.

She chuckled at him, walking over to the stove to lift the lid and took a deep breath. "It looks and smells fantastic." Reaching for the spoon that rested between the burners, she gave the pot a stir. "There's no beans."

"No self-respecting Texan puts _beans_ in his chili, Elizabeth," he said, feigning offense.

"I'm sorry," she laughed, putting the lid back on the pot. "Who's Bobby Dawson?"

"He works in Ballistics," replied Nick. "Also a Texan . . . nice guy." He turned to face her, leaning a hip against the stove; she did the same, and they gazed at each other, happy to be in one another's company again. "So . . . you hungry?"

Her eyes bright, she nodded. "Yeah." Then she leaned forward and curled a hand around the back of Nick's neck, guiding her lips up to his for a slow, gentle kiss. He was smiling when she pulled back, and she grazed his ear with the tip of her index finger. "I wasn't expecting dinner."

"You kiss me like that again and we might just skip it," he replied.

She chuckled. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but if that's the case I won't be kissing you like that again – not until after we eat. I'm starving."

"Well then let's eat, for God's sake," he said, taking the pot off the stove and bringing it to the dining room. She followed and allowed him to charm her by pulling her chair out for her. She sat down to a handsomely set table, and he held out his hand for her bowl.

She handed it to him with a smile. "Did you make the tea, too?" she asked, eyeing the tumbler filled with ice and tea, and a slice of lemon.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied as he set the now-full bowl in front of her, and then moved to fill his own bowl. "Corn bread's out of a box, though."

"I'm sure it's lovely." She waited until he sat down and had spread his napkin on his lap. "If I burn my tongue on this, will you kiss it better?"

"I'll kiss it even if you don't get burned," he replied.

She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her bowl, taking a cautious first sample of Nick's culinary abilities. "It's not that spicy," she noted, pleased, when she had swallowed her first bite.

"I pulled back a bit on the habaneras," he said. "I didn't want to give you heartburn – I got plans for you later on."

She took another bite, quirking an eyebrow as she chewed. "Really?" she asked. "What kind of plans?"

"Overdue plans," he replied cheekily.

Elizabeth smiled and felt her cheeks flush. "It's really good, Nicky – I like it."

"Thank you," he replied, sipping his tea.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Better than usual," he replied. "In fact, I think I slept a little too long. And I got to talk to Cassie about an hour ago; she sounded much better."

"She must've slept well, too."

"Yeah, I think she did." He looked up from his bowl to meet her eyes. "Thank you."

She creased her brow. "For what?"

"She got to settle down and get a good night's rest because of you – because of the outcome of the hearing. That was all you, Miss Halles."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Oh, I don't know . . . you were awfully smooth in there yourself."

"But I wouldn't have been in there at all if it hadn't been for you." His gaze across the table was intense.

She blushed a little, looking down at her bowl. "Well . . . I like you. And I am utterly smitten with Cassie – she reminds me a lot of me, only she's much sweeter."

"You're both sweet," he replied between bites of chili. "It's just harder to find on you."

"That's not very nice!" she replied, laughing. He leaned toward her to beg a kiss, his smirk telling her he was teasing. She tasted chili on his lips and licked her own when she sat back in her own chair. "Do you talk to Cassie every day?"

"I do," he replied with a nod. "Today she begged me to tell her about last night."

"I hope you left out the parts where your hands were up my dress."

"Of course I did," he replied. "I never kiss and tell."

She showed her pretty white teeth when she smiled at him. "That was more than kissing."

"Okay. I never feel up and tell, either. I'm a gentleman."

"Good news for me," she said. "What did you tell her?"

"I said that we held hands a lot, and that you kissed me. On the lips. Although, she's adamantly opposed to the idea of French kissing, so as far as she's aware there was none of that."

"Let's keep her adamantly opposed to that for as long as possible," she said.

"Sounds like a plan to me," he said, turning to his chili and liking the sound of her collective "let's." "She needs to just be a kid a while longer."

Elizabeth took a bite of her cornbread and chewed thoughtfully. "So . . . when you get her, you know, when she actually moves in, what are you going to do with her?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean before school, after school, at night, when you're working . . . where's she gonna go?"

He smiled. "That's what I've been talking to Audra about. She's got five kids and she's filling me in on some of the particulars of this parenting business. She's helping me find a nanny."

"Nannies do overnights?"

"They do in Las Vegas. I've found a couple to talk to so far. It's not a terribly difficult position, all she'd have to do is be here, get Cassie up and ready for school, and maybe take her to school if I'm running late." He took the last bite of his chili and looked up at Elizabeth, chewing. "This was good," he said, pointing at his empty bowl with his spoon. "I am a chili _god_."

She laughed at him, but agreed. "Although girl cannot live on chili alone. What else can you cook?"

"I can cook anything, as long as I can throw it on the grill," he replied, sitting back and sipping his tea.

"Well, it's a very healthy, if not monotonous way to cook," she said.

"Audra says I need to broaden my horizons a little, but frankly I think Cassie will find my cooking an improvement over Emily's."

She sat back, also finished, and sipped her tea. "I can only take your word for it, but I'm sure she'll love your chili. She'll have to, won't she? She'll be an adopted Texan – isn't it Texas law that you have to like beanless chili?"

He chuckled. "It might be," he replied.

"I give it a month," she said warmly, admiring his grin with a smile. "You'll have your approval."

He shook his head. "I hate to be the pessimist – it's foreign territory for me – but I'm not going to get my hopes up. I'm just gonna take it day by day . . . and as long as I get to see or talk to her every day, I'll make it work."

"A month," she repeated. "I'd put money on it."

"Why don't we? Let's make it interesting."

She thought a moment, and then agreed. "All right. If you get your approval within four weeks, you take me shoe-shopping."

"Okay," he said with a nod. "And when four weeks passes and we get nothin' from DFS, you buy me a new grill."

"Deal," she said brightly, and they clinked tea glasses to seal their agreement. When he set his glass back on the table, she did the same. "Thanks for dinner."

His eyes crinkled, and he took her hand in his to kiss the knuckles. "My pleasure."

She offered to help him clean up and took her bowl and glass into the kitchen. Since Nick had cleaned up as much as possible before she arrived it took little time, and within a few moments she was wiping down the kitchen counter. Nick came up behind her as she worked and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips into the back of her neck. "Mmm . . . dessert."

She chuckled, turning around to kiss him properly. She tossed the washcloth across the kitchen and into the sink and then draped her arms around his shoulders. "Sweet," she replied.

"Wine?" he offered.

"Please."

He kissed her gently and stepped back. "I'll bring it to you in the living room."

As he busied himself in the kitchen with the corkscrew and wineglasses she wandered into the living room. It was still sparsely dotted with furniture, but over time that would change. On the walls were photos of people she assumed were his family, and Cassie's school picture. It warmed Elizabeth's heart that Nick thought to put up Cassie's photo in his living room, and she smiled.

"She hates that picture," said Nick from behind her.

Elizabeth turned around to see Nick with a filled wine glass in each hand a smile on his face. He held out one of the glasses.

She walked forward and accepted it, sitting down on the couch. "Why does she hate it?"

"She thinks she looks like a dork," he replied, taking a seat on the chair-and-a-half that was diagonal to the couch. He took a sip of his wine and then draped his arm across the back of the chair, crooking his index finger at her. She lifted a brow, sipping her own wine, and rather pointedly stayed put.

He rounded out his eyes and lowered his chin. "Please?"

She laughed. "Oh, God – not the puppy-dog eyes!"

"You loooove the puppy-dog eyes . . . give in to the puppy-dog eyes . . . ."

"Oh, fine," she sighed in resignation with all the drama she could muster. She moved to the seat next to him, turning her body toward him. He kissed her as a reward. She chuckled at him and relaxed into the softness of the chair, noticing the spicy scent of his cologne for the first time that night. They were quiet for a moment, until Nick took her hand and kissed it. Then he broached the subject he had more or less been dreading all night, reasoning that if he just went for it, it'd be less painful – like ripping a band-aid off all at once. "So . . . about those war wounds."

"Yes . . . the war wounds." She shrugged a little, looking away to search for the right thing to say about it. "Nothing terribly complicated or earth-shattering," she replied, and then looked back up at him. "Michael – my married gentleman-friend – never slept with me. He always went home to his wife, no matter how many times I asked him if just this one time he could stay."

Nick shook his head. "This man is a fool," he said.

"_I_ was a fool," replied Elizabeth, smiling sadly. "I willfully ignored the rather obvious evidence that he was deceiving both me _and_ his wife because I loved him. Once I realized why he never stayed – because his wife didn't know about me, because she wasn't also cheating – I was heartbroken and angry and I told his wife what was going on."

Nick cringed. "Do you know how many crime scenes I've worked where that kind of thing was going on right before something like a butcher knife appeared?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I do. I do now, anyway. But at the time I was just trying to get back at him. A couple of days later he came over." She looked away to chuckle. "He wanted one more time . . . you know? And like the silly little girl I was at the time, I agreed, as long as he said he'd stay the night. I wanted just one time to fall asleep in his arms and wake up the next morning to see his face. And he said he'd do it – he said he'd stay." She paused again, sipping her wine. "I almost believed him."

"But you kicked him out."

"Yes, I did. He broke my heart, he lied to me, and he ruined me for anyone else." She let out a sigh. "Little bastard."

"Do you still hate him?"

"No," she replied brightly. "I don't. I don't feel anything for him."

Smiling slightly, Nick nodded. "That's good," he replied.

She shrugged. "He's not worth my emotion." She sipped her wine again. "Now, Mr. Stokes . . . I showed you mine; time to show me yours."

He nodded in acquiescence, knowing this moment had been coming. "My wounds have nothing to do with a woman."

"No?" she asked. "You've never been in love?"

"I didn't say that," he replied. "I just don't have any scars from my first love."

"But you said you had war wounds," she prodded gently.

"I do." He sipped his own wine, looking away for a moment, and then back at her. "Did you ever see . . . I mean, I know it was on the news . . . about two years ago, I was . . . kidnapped . . . buried in a box . . . did you know about that?"

She nodded solemnly. "Yes," she replied. "I kept waiting for that case to cross my desk. It was earmarked for me. I had Ecklie keep me updated . . . we kept the television on in the office. We were all afraid for you." She squeezed his hand.

"I never knew that."

She shrugged. "All my guys like all your guys," she said. "We do different jobs, but we work toward the same end."

He smiled, nodding. "We do." He paused to take a sip again, and then continued. "It's been a struggle to get over that," he continued, the words coming out in a rush. "I . . . I still have . . . trouble, sometimes."

"Nightmares?" she asked, her voice gentle.

"I hate that word," he said forcefully, looking away. "Makes me feel like such a child." Elizabeth waited patiently for him to look at her again, and when he did, he added, "I have trouble sleeping."

She inched closer to him on the couch. "So my need to have you sleep next to me conflicts with your need to sleep alone."

"It would appear so," he said.

"So . . . my inner therapist – and trust me, Nicky, I've seen enough of them as an adult to have one – tells me that this is a matter of trust. For you, the question is: Do you trust me enough to know that if you should happen to have a nightmare, I won't think any less of you? For me, the question is: Do I trust you enough to know that you want to sleep next to me, even if you find that you can't?"

His eyes held hers for a long moment. "Do you, Lizzy?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"Yes," she replied. "Do you trust me, Nick?"

He leaned over and kissed her wine-stained lips gently. "Yes." Then he smiled and straightened his back, and held up his right pinkie.

She eyed it, amused. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Pinkie swear," he replied.

She laughed. "Pinkie swear? Really? You want me to pinkie swear that I trust you?"

"Yes," he replied, still smiling but utterly serious. "A pinkie swear is a sacred promise, Lizzy – don't laugh. Cassie and I started out with a pinkie-swear, too. I promised I'd always be honest with her."

She let out a chuckle, but recognized that this was no joke for Nick. She lifted her own pinkie and linked it with his. "Okay, Nicky," she replied, biting her lip. "I pinkie swear . . . I trust you. Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow morning I'm still with you."

"I believe you," he replied, pulling his pinkie back as she did the same. Then he took her wine glass from her and set it and his own down on the coffee table. "Now kiss me."

"Oh – is that how this works with you?" she questioned. "You just hand out orders?"

"Hey, I have puppy-dog eyes and I'm not afraid to use them."

She laughed and leaned in to do his bidding. He wrapped her in his arms and reached up into her hair to release the clip that held it in a French roll. It fell around her shoulders and he collected it in his hands, running his fingers through her hair, his mouth devouring her sweetness, it didn't take him long to get lost and he found himself pulling her ever closer. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, pausing to swallow and control his breathing before he asked in a small voice, "Do you want to stay?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Why do you look so nervous?" asked Nick, tilting his head.

"I'm not a young woman anymore," she said quietly. "I'm over forty. My body doesn't look like it used to look . . . I'm . . . ."

"Beautiful," he said, running his index finger across her bottom lip. "Lizzy, you're beautiful, and youth's not all it's cracked up to be. I'm not a young man anymore, either."

She smiled. "I wish I had spent my youth with you instead of with law books."

"Make up for it," he whispered, his lips grazing hers, kissing to punctuate his request. "Make up for it . . . with me . . . now."

Wordlessly, she put her hand on his strong chin to keep him with her as she laid back on the chair. She pressed hot kisses to his forehead and chin and then claimed his mouth with a passion so raw it caught Nick off-guard and any lingering rational thought was erased from his mind. His hands found her hips and slowly roamed upward, disheartened by the amount of clothing he found.

"I like your power suit, Lizzy, but it's gettin' in my way."

"No one's stopping you from taking it off, Nicky."

With a quirked eyebrow he sat her up and slid her jacket off her shoulders, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table. As he worked on the buttons of her vest he reclaimed her mouth, and her arms slipped up his arms to pull his long-sleeved shirt up his back and over his head. She threw it over the side of the chair they shared and smiled.

"You need to catch up," she teased, pushing him backward.

He wanted to protest, but her mouth and hands on his chest were too distracting. "Lizzzeeee . . ." was all he could make himself say.

For her part, Elizabeth was having trouble focusing and wished she weren't wearing so many layers when Nick's nicely-formed torso was underneath her. Realizing that she was still wearing her glasses, she removed them and moved to set them down on the coffee table.

Nick took this opportunity to take to his feet and pulled her up with him. "Why'd you have to wear so many clothes, Lizzy?" he complained, finally winning his wrestling match with the last button on her vest.

She shrugged out of the offending garment as she started in on his belt buckle. "Clothes have always served me well in the past," she mumbled. "What is with you Texans and these huge belt buckles?"

A low, soft chuckle came from his throat and he put his hands on top of hers. "Don't hate the buckle, Lizzy." He helped her undo it, and then his hands found her shirt and his lips found hers again, aided by her arms around his neck. As he slowly unbuttoned her blouse he moved his mouth from her mouth to her chin, and then in a slow line down the middle of her throat. When the last button was freed he pushed the blouse off of Elizabeth's shoulders and let it slide down her arms to the floor. Her skirt was next to it in a matter of seconds; all he had to do was unzip it and run the tips of his fingers up her spine, which caused her to suck in her breath and allow the skirt to slide off her hips with a little help from his free hand.

He stepped back to look at her and couldn't help a smirk. "The district attorney has butterflies on her underwear."

"Hey, you know what? You don't like it, then take those off, too, Stokes."

He gazed at her a moment, struck by the look in her eyes and the heightened color in her cheeks, before he stepped forward again to feather one hand into her hair and use the other to pull her pelvis against his. When she wrapped her arms around him again, a feeling of such unexpected comfort and desire enveloped him that he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, without a thought in his head of what would happen when he fell asleep. No matter how he woke up – screaming, sweating, or otherwise – she would be there, and as long as she was, very little else mattered.


	17. Chapter 17

**A quick note: Sorry it's taken so long for me to update. Your kind reviews have been wonderful and I thank you dearly for them :)**

* * *

With the usual dread in the pit of his stomach, Nick pulled his truck into a parking spot in the municipal ramp adjacent to the courthouse. He had been called to testify for the prosecution in a case which he had worked some time ago involving a battered woman. While he recognized the necessity of his appearance at trial, it was last on his list of things he liked about his job. The prosecuting attorney's questions he could always handle – they were, for the most part, reasonable and to the point, no matter who he was working with. On this particular case, he was working with Bobby Christianson, Elizabeth's deputy, whose relaxed demeanor and even temperament usually helped remind Nick that someone had his back while the defense cross-examined him.

He always had difficulty, whether he showed it or not, with being cross-examined. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't help but feel that he was personally on trial, and defense attorneys usually came up with ridiculous ways to refute the testimony he presented. He supposed this had to do with his very first experience in court as a young CSI in Dallas, when his own brother had rather viciously cross-examined him. The Houston County DA, a friend of their mother's, assured him several times over that the not guilty verdict that was returned was not his fault, but he still felt awful.

Waiting for the trial to begin, he sat placidly in the courtroom, privately reliving the pleasantness of waking Elizabeth that morning. It had been three weeks since his first official date with her and by his measure, things were going extremely well. They were together more often than not, and added Cassie whenever they could. Elizabeth had taken to bringing dinner to his house to share when he woke up, and Nick would bring her coffee, either to her office on his way home, or preferably directly to her bed, which was where he'd been before coming to the courthouse. Around the lab, he tired to keep it quiet for the sake of avoiding a lecture from Ecklie, but everyone knew. Grissom even seemed pleased by the whole affair, and although Nick thought this was odd, he didn't question it.

As far as Nick and his evidence were concerned, it was an open and shut case – the suspect's epithelials were all over the victim, particularly in her defensive wounds, his saliva and blood were on her clothes, and his fingerprints were all over the suspected weapon. In addition, he himself had injuries he couldn't reasonably explain, and the victim had called police because of him on four previous occasions. The trouble was that the victim was comatose and couldn't speak for herself. While on the stand, Nick explained to the jury the science of epithelials and how he had been able to reconstruct the fight and connect the unexplained injuries on the suspect to the victim. The defense claimed that his electronic reconstruction had been manipulated and called the rest of his testimony flimsy. The attorney was well on his way to provoking Nick into a shouting match when the prosecuting attorney finally objected to the hostile line of questioning. Nick was soon excused.

Loosening his tie on his way out of the courtroom, he saw Catherine, Grissom, and Ecklie walking toward him. "Hey guys," he said, pulling the tie off. "What's up?"

"Brass brought in our suspect from the shooting on McArthur Boulevard," explained Grissom, referring to the case he worked that night. "We're headed over to PD to question him. Do you want to come along?"

Without hesitation, Nick shook his head. "No, y'all go ahead. I worked twelve hours before my stint in court; I need a nap."

"You sure, Nicky? You were pretty hot on this one at first," commented Catherine.

"Yeah . . . but if you want, I can see if I can get anything else out of him later on today . . . maybe around dinner time, if you can hold him that long. I need to see the DA to check on something else, and then I'm going home. If you need to, you can reach me there."

Ecklie creased his brow and looked to Grissom for a moment. "You've been seeing a lot of the DA lately, Nick," he said, more than a little curious. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

Nick shook his head and rubbed his eyes a little. "No . . . it's nothing," he replied.

"Nick, if you're in some kind of trouble, your superiors need to know about it."

"I'm not in any _trouble_, Ecklie," he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Before he could ask any more questions, Elizabeth Halles herself approached. Her eyes were trained on Nick and she had a grave expression on her face.

"Elizabeth?" he asked cautiously. "What is it?"

Hesitantly, she held out an envelope. "This was couriered over this morning from DFS."

He took the envelope from her hands and extracted the letter contained inside. Before he could unfold it to read, he looked up at her and asked, "Did you read it?"

She nodded solemnly. "I did."

Nick turned back to the paper in his hands, unfolding slowly and clearing his throat before he commenced reading. The letter was brief and to the point, and when he was finished he closed his eyes and folded it again.

"I'm sorry, Nicky."

Catherine put her hand on Nick's shoulder. "They didn't . . . deny him?" she asked, ready to pounce on the DA for not having already pounced on DFS. "Not again."

It was quiet in the hallway for a moment. "Deny him what?" asked Ecklie, looking on curiously. No one answered him.

Catherine tried to take the letter from Nick, but he wouldn't relinquish it. He took a mighty breath and asked, his eyes still closed, "So this . . . this is the answer . . . this is . . . definite."

"Yes," answered Elizabeth, nodding.

He opened his eyes. They were steely, determined. "And nothing will change this?"

"No. Nothing."

Catherine took a step closer to Elizabeth, the color heightened in her cheeks. "You can't tell me there's nothing you can do," she spat, angry on behalf of her friend. "You're the DA – I respect the fact that you don't like to use it, but you do have some influence. You have connections, you know people, you know-"

"Get a hold of yourself, Willows," said Ecklie, putting a hand on her upper arm. "There's no need to yell in the hallway of the courthouse." He turned to Elizabeth. "What's going on with Stokes?"

Elizabeth kept her eyes on Nick, who was re-reading the letter, and allowed Catherine to rant at her boss.

"Stokes is being discriminated against by the Department of Family Services," she replied, her tone no less fierce but the volume lower.

"Catherine, stop," said Nick, curling his hand over her shoulder. His voice was low, thick. "It's all right."

She turned to him, appalled. "No, it's _not_ all-"

"I got her." His face was solemn, but otherwise unreadable, and there were unshed tears in his eyes. He swallowed back the emotion that was bubbling up and handed her the letter.

She took it from him, reading aloud as Ecklie and Grissom listened. "Dear Mr. Stokes . . . pleased to inform you . . . granted guardianship of Cassandra, effective April first. If, after thirty days and the successful completion of the home study, no concerns have been noted by DFS, you may move forward with the formal adoption process." Catherine looked up at Elizabeth, who was now smiling slightly at Nick.

She quirked an eyebrow as she said, "Four foot eight, sixty pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes . . . congratulations, Mr. Stokes, it's a girl."

Grissom peeked at the letter over Catherine's shoulder. "Congratulations, Nick," he offered, his eyes bright.

Nick's eyes were still locked on Elizabeth, who was the only one who could interpret his intense look for what it was – a mixture of gratitude, joy, and adoration. "I got her."

She laughed at him a little. "Yeah . . . you got Annie," she quipped.

"I got her."

"You got her."

The next thing any of them knew, his arms were around Elizabeth and he was murmuring in her ear. "Thank you, Lizzy . . . thank you so much." He wanted to kiss her but was too aware of his surroundings, and particularly of Ecklie. "Thank you." Stepping back, he swiped away the tear that had managed to escape his eye.

"Oh, Nicky," said Catherine, her hand on his shoulder. He immediately turned to hug her next, squeezing tight for a long moment. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Thanks, Cath," he replied as he let go and backed away.

"You two are a couple of insufferable teases," she declared, looking back and forth between Nick and Elizabeth and not really knowing whether she should be annoyed or overjoyed. She swatted Nick's arm with his letter, which he accepted from her, and then turned to Elizabeth. "What are you sorry about?"

Elizabeth fixed her with a confused glance for a moment before she remembered her apology. "Oh, that – I bet Stokes that his petition would be approved within a month of the hearing. He was not so optimistic, and now he owes me shoes."

Catherine took a peek down at Elizabeth's black Oxford pumps. "Prada?" she guessed.

"Stuart Weitzman," Elizabeth replied knowingly.

"What's that mean?" asked Nick, scowling slightly and tilting his head at Catherine.

Smiling, Catherine turned her bright smile back up to Nick. "Means you're about to go broke," she replied. "Well, Nicky . . . you're in for it now, in more ways than one."

"Does someone want to fill me in on what's going on?" barked Ecklie, annoyed.

Elizabeth turned to him, a bright smile on her face. "Stokes is adopting a little girl, Ecklie."

Surprised, he turned to Nick. "Oh. I see." He nodded, and then looked at Elizabeth. "And you provided representation for him?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding, her tone bright and condescending. "No wonder you're the lab director, Ecklie – you're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

Ecklie shot her an annoyed look, but offered his hand to Nick. "Congratulations, Nick," he said, and Nick shook. "Is this why you've been seeing so much of each other lately?"

"Ostensibly," replied Elizabeth, hoping to put an end to Ecklie's questions. "Now, Mr. Stokes . . . I believe there is a little girl to inform and a debt to be settled. Which do you want to do first?"

He smiled at her. "The little girl is still in school," he replied, looking at his watch. "So why don't you let me buy you lunch and we'll go from there."

"That sounds perfect," she replied. "I'm ready when you are."

Catherine and Grissom issued adieus to Elizabeth and Nick and walked away. Ecklie lingered a little longer, and turned to the pair with an uncomfortable expression on his face. "Look, Nick . . . Elizabeth . . . I, uh . . . I'm going to trust that nothing . . . inappropriate is going on."

"Inappropriate?" questioned Nick, who wanted him to walk away – into a black hole, preferably. Just for a little while. "No, nothing inappropriate here."

"No?" He turned to Elizabeth. "Can _I_ call you Lizzy?"

"Oh, Ecklie . . . of course you can't," she replied brightly. "That's reserved strictly for neighbors." She winked and was clearly amused at his discomfiture.

Ecklie nodded slowly. "All right. Well – again, congratulations. We'll see you both later."

Nick and Elizabeth both nodded as he walked away to join Catherine and Grissom, who were waiting patiently at the end of the hallway. Once they had boarded the elevator, Nick's hand curled around hers and they turned to each other, smiling.

"I could _burst_, Lizzy."

She kissed him softly. "Lunch at my place?" she offered, her eyebrow raised. "You can nap, and we'll go see Cassie. We can worry about your debt another time."

He kissed her, but his kiss wasn't soft; it was hard and passionate and he hoped it conveyed how much he adored her, how grateful he was for her help, and how unbelievably happy he was. "I'll meet you at your place," he replied. Kissing her gently one last time, he squeezed her hand and they parted, heading to the parking ramp together.

* * *

Nick drove out to Blue Diamond holding Elizabeth's hand. Once he parked the truck in Emily's dusty driveway, he took a moment to admire her relaxed, cheerful features. Then he lowered his voice a little and said, "Listen, Elizabeth . . . I don't know how I can ever thank you for this, but if there's ever anything I can do . . . I hope you'll let me know."

She smiled. "I did the easy part," she replied. "You're the one that has to raise her; I just helped you get the chance to do it."

Nick looked at the house. "That's what I wanted," he said. "That's all I wanted."

Elizabeth patted his knee. "Let's go tell her."

He turned to smile at her before opening the truck door and sliding out. Elizabeth beat him to the front door and knocked as he stood on the sidewalk behind her. Susan answered the door shyly.

"Hello."

"Hi there," said Elizabeth gently. "I'm looking for Cassie McBride – is she here?"

"Yeah," replied Susan, but didn't move.

"Could I come in and see her?"

Susan paused before she spoke again. "I'm not supposed to let strangers into the house."

Nick moved so that Susan could see him. "It's okay, Susan – why don't you go get Miss Emily?"

Susan scowled. "Oh – it's _you_." She opened the door, and for the first time Nick noticed that she did it with her left hand. He wondered whether that had anything to do with Cassie's constantly-disappearing baseball glove. "I'll go get stupid Cassie – she's upstairs reading. Again." She turned around and disappeared, but her voice could be heard calling for Cassie.

Nick climbed the front steps, passing Elizabeth on his way and leading her into the house. "You have quite an affect on the ladies, Nicholas," she commented dryly.

"It's a gift," he said as they entered the living room. She just shook her head.

Emily was in the living room folding clothes on the floor. She looked up when Nick and Elizabeth came in and greeted them politely. Without having to ask why they were there, and without standing up, she said, "You got her, didn't you?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, I did."

She shook her head and looked away, and a moment later wiped a tear from her cheek as she looked back up at him. "I'm glad for Cassie," she whispered.

It was quiet a moment before Cassie could be heard bounding down the stairs. Her enthusiasm at Nick's unexpected appearance brought a smile to Elizabeth's face.

"Hi, Elizabeth!" she exclaimed once she'd given Nick a hug. "What are you guys doing here?"

Nick grinned. "We have some good news for you."

Her eyes brightened. "About the adoption?" Nick nodded. "What is it?"

"Well, if you remember, there are two parts to this whole thing," he explained, as he had once before. "The first part is, they say that you can come live with me, and they give me temporary custody of you. Then, they do that home study, and some extra paperwork, and you meet with a judge, and that makes it official."

"So what's the good news, Nickelbee?" she asked, feigning exasperation.

He grinned. "The good news is that we got a date for that first part. You can come live with me on April first, and after about a month, Elizabeth is going to help me file the adoption paperwork."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up, in much the same way Nick's had.

"Really," confirmed Nick with a smile.

In response, she squealed and threw her arms around him. After a moment she let go and ran to Elizabeth, hugging her as well. "Thank you!"

Nick rose again, and then looked down at Emily, still sitting on the floor and passively folding clothes. "Would you mind if we take her out for some ice cream?"

She shook her head without looking up. "No . . . go on," she said quietly.

"Can we bring you back something?"

Emily paused a moment in her folding. Slowly, she looked up at Nick with an odd, guarded expression. "I'd like that."

He smiled; she looked away. He had noticed that in the last few weeks, she'd been doing a lot of that. He was about to ask whether she was all right when Cassie bounced off of Elizabeth to stand in front of her. "What kind do you want, Miss Emily?"

When Emily turned to look at Cassie, her face was all adoration, although she still didn't smile. "Just a Dilly Bar," she replied. "A chocolate one."

Cassie then grabbed Nick's hand and pulled him toward the door. Laughingly he looked back at Emily. "You sure that's all you want?"

She nodded. "Call every hour," she said, out of habit more than anything. Elizabeth noted that her voice seemed a little thick.

Nick smiled at Emily. "We'll only be gone thirty minutes, Em."

She looked swiftly back down at her sock pile. "Okay. Behave, Cassie."

Elizabeth dearly wished she could've read Emily's thoughts just then, because she suspected that they would have been full of Nick. She smiled at her instead, hoping to get one in return, but it seemed Emily had no smiles to give.

* * *

That night, Nick held Elizabeth in his arms, waiting for her to drift off before he went to work. After visiting Cassie that afternoon, he drove home, parking in his own driveway but following Elizabeth's bedroom eyes to her door. The most energetic sex he'd had in years soon followed, and then he joined her in her Jacuzzi for a gleeful – and sloppy – bath and celebratory glass of wine. After he slept, they ate a cold supper on her living room floor dressed in nothing but bath robes, Elizabeth's head in Nick's lap watching the news. Then they were at it again, but this time it was more passionate, less rushed than the late afternoon, and because Nick was scheduled to work that evening they showered together afterward. Now, laying fully-dressed on top of her quilt, he was thinking about the bath and how much he had laughed in that half hour, splashing around in the tub with her. He couldn't remember a time in the last handful of years when he had laughed – really _laughed_ – so much, either with Elizabeth or sitting at the Dairy Queen listening to Cassie tell tales of her classmates.

Cassie, he noted, was becoming more and more animated and he had never seen her in such high spirits as he had that afternoon. He knew that the simple fact that she was getting a permanent home did not erase all of her woes, did not heal the heart that had broken when her parents died and everything she knew was taken from her, but he did know that he could help her heal fully. He would not ask her to forget about her parents and Jeremy; he would not ask her to behave as though there was nothing at all amiss in her life. He would simply do for her what he believed her parents would have him do – he would stand by her, he would lead her down the right paths, and he would love and protect her.

Elizabeth stirred and asked what he was thinking about. The truth was that he was thinking about whether she might just be the Carol to his Mike in the miniature Brady Bunch he was forming and whether he wanted any little Bradys of his own. He had always loved kids, but beyond admiring them while they slept, babies had never really interested him. The bottom line was that with the very minor exception of occasional coos and giggles, they didn't do anything but sleep, poo, eat, and cry.

"Nicky?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He took a breath. "Did you ever want kids?" he asked, weaving her hair through his fingers gently.

"Sure," she replied sleepily. "When I was younger."

"You don't anymore?"

"I'm too old," she replied, her voice tinged with regret. "If I had one right now, I'd be sixty when the kid went to college."

"Sixty's not old anymore," he replied dismissively.

"It's not young, either." She yawned. "Besides, at my age, the risk of complicated pregnancies, miscarriages, and birth defects skyrockets."

He said nothing for a moment, but continued to play with her hair. "So . . . did you ever think about adopting?"

"Sure," she said again. "It's such a big change, though. Did you ever think about it before you met Cassie?"

"No," he replied. "I guess I always assumed that sooner or later the right woman would come along and we'd do the whole white picket fence thing."

Elizabeth, true to form, did not ask whether she were the right woman. She was not clingy or needy; she was independent and strong and trusted Nick enough to let him take the lead on his own emotions. "I never really wanted the white picket fence."

"No?"

"No. I mean, when I was a kid, in foster homes – sure, I wanted what everyone else seemed to have. But as a young adult working in the criminal justice field I found out really fast that looks are deceiving and that everyone just wants what they don't have. I think the whole white picket fence deal is a scam."

Nick laughed at her. "It's not a scam," he replied. "My parents had it."

"One couple out of how many, Stokes? I stand by my theory."

He smilingly kissed her forehead. "So no white picket fence for you."

"Nope. Instead I got wrought iron and a dog who chases lizards." She yawned again. "And a hot neighbor with a great kid. I think that's suburban enough for me."

He chuckled into her hair. "Well . . . this hot neighbor needs to go to work, unfortunately."

Her eyes were droopy as she looked up at him. "Be safe," she requested.

"Of course," he replied, and dipped his head to kiss her. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He gingerly rose from the bed, kissed her head again, and slipped from the room. She heard him walk down the hall, flicking off lights. She heard his footfalls on the stairs and heard him pet Ginger on the head and praise her, and heard him leave the house, locking the door behind him. When she heard his truck start from his driveway, she whispered into his scent left in the pillow she was hugging, a smile etched deeply into her face.

"I love you, Nicky."

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **Hi Folks! For those of you who were confused about my update yesterday that didn't appear to be an upate, please refer to Chapter 13. While posting this I missed a whole chunk of the story and while it shouldn't change your understanding of events it might help clarify some things. Peruse it if you would like - otherwise, enjoy the following. Thanks for your great reviews; I hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

Catherine stood in the middle of what would, in less than two weeks, be Cassie's bedroom in Nick's house. She and Lindsey had gone shopping, and while she had been respectful of Nick's budget – after all, she knew how much he made – she hadn't exactly held back. The spoils from their shopping trip sat in the living room. Nick and Elizabeth stood in front of her, waiting for her instructions.

"I didn't know you could paint, Elizabeth," she said, amused by the DA's appearance.

"I'm more than just a bitchy face, Catherine," Elizabeth deadpanned in response.

"I guess we're about to find out," said Catherine with a smile, who could only have more respect for a woman who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. She issued her instructions for the room – prime it, paint it pink, and call her when it was done. Nick heard mentions of brown polka dots and seriously wondered if he should defer Catherine's decorating talent for another time, but Elizabeth seemed to think it was all right. As Catherine headed out with her daughter in search of one last accessory, he and his not-so-secret girlfriend got down to business.

When they returned, Lindsey wielded a pencil and approximated where each of the large chocolate circles should be placed on the walls. There were different sized round stencils, and she directed Elizabeth as to which were to be used in what spot. Catherine admired her daughter displaying the authoritative nature she had given her as she washed Cassie's new bedding, and then the Willowses made a late lunch as Elizabeth and Nick washed pink paint out of brushes, rollers, and their hands. The brown painting would have to wait until the pink dried, but Lindsey volunteered to help with the white trim after they had eaten.

The room was big enough, but not huge, so it was just Nick and Lindsey working on the trim, the teenager on the window and the pseudo-adopted uncle on the door. "So . . . can I ask you a question, Nick?"

"Sure," he replied, his eyes on the door.

"How come Cassie's . . . y'know, _available_?"

He turned to look at Lindsey. "Her parents died," he replied. "Thought you knew that."

"I think my mom said something, but I don't always listen when she yammers about stuff."

He was quiet for a moment. "Your mom's a good woman, Lindsey."

"I know," she responded readily, surprising Nick. "But her job . . . sometimes it's all I hear and it's not that I don't think it's interesting – in fact a bunch of my friends think I have like, the coolest mom _ever_, but I don't know. You guys have to see a lot of gory stuff. It's just . . . kinda weird, you know? Like, I don't really wanna hear about all the bad stuff that goes on."

He smiled and turned back to the door. "I don't blame you. Sometimes I don't, either."

Lindsey was quiet, her focus on the trim and her brush, but because she was a typical teenager it didn't last long. "So what happened to her parents?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear about bad stuff."

"So it was bad?" asked Lindsey, turning to look at Nick.

He moved away from the door, expecting to find Lindsey's face a mix of anticipation and fear, as though she were watching a horror film. Instead he found her round eyes, which looked like Eddie's, full of compassion, which reminded him of the best of Catherine. "Yeah," he replied, his heart touched. "It was bad."

She was quiet a minute, looking away. "I remember when my dad died," she said. "Mom was so sad . . . I think Grandma was glad he was gone. I didn't feel like anyone understood. Do you think Cassie thinks that too?"

He nodded. "She's still trying to work some things out. I think right now, she lives in a house where a lot of the kids understand, but they don't know how to talk about it."

"Maybe you could tell her . . . I don't know. My mom says I'm a good listener." She cringed at the way it sounded. "When I listen, anyway."

Nick chuckled. "That's really sweet, Linds," he replied. "I'll let her know that if she wants to talk to someone who'd understand, she can call you."

She smiled. "Right," she said in confirmation. "Thanks, Un- . . . thanks." She had been about to call him Uncle Nicky, as she had until recently, when she'd figured out that Uncle Nicky was hot. Cheeks flushed, she turned to focus again on the trim.

"No, Linds – thank _you_." Nick walked across the room to kiss her on the head, and then he also went back to his work, heart thumping joyfully in his chest.

* * *

On April first, Nick found himself whistling to the music on the radio as he drove one last time out to Blue Diamond to pick up Cassie. When he pulled up to the old farm house, Emily was outside, taking Cassie's bike out of the storage shed where it had been placed when she arrived.

She turned her expressionless face up to Nick when he approached her. "She's upstairs packing . . . she's been singin' all day."

He smiled. "Me too," he admitted.

She paused to admire him a little – although he suspected she was just trying to find something kind to say – before she invited him to go into the house and get Cassie himself.

When he found her room he peeked inside to find Susan sitting on her bed watching Cassie pack away the last few things she had left out. "You know the only reason he's adopting you is so he can have sex with you."

"You know you're only saying that because you're jealous," Cassie replied tiredly over her shoulder.

"Of you having sex with that guy? No, not really."

Cassie sighed. "You're stupid. Nick's not like that, so stop talking about him that way."

"All boys are like that," said Susan meanly, knowing Nick was in the hallway.

Cassie zipped her duffel bag and hung it over her shoulder. Turning to Susan, she repeated, "You're stupid," before she picked up the picture of her family she kept on the night stand.

Nick opened the door fully. "Hey, Cassie Jane," he said, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. She ran to him, and he swooped her up in a hug. When he let go, he asked Cassie if she was ready.

"Yep," she said brightly, and then looked back at Susan. "Maybe I'll write to you."

"You probably won't, stupid."

"Whatever." Then, to Susan's surprise, Cassie crossed the room and hugged her. "I'll miss you, you know. I mean, even though you were never nice to me, it was kind of like having a sister, for a little while."

"Whatever," was all the confused Susan could say in reply.

Cassie turned to Nick. "Let's go," she said with a smile. "Miss Emily has some other stuff of mine in the garage."

"Why don't you go on down and say goodbye to her?" he suggested. "Give me your bag." She gave it to him, but kept her picture tucked in her arm as she headed down the stairs. Nick looked in at Susan. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She crossed her arms and put her knees together, tucking her feet underneath her. "I'm fine," she replied, eyeing him distrustfully. "I'm fine. Go away."

"I brought you something," he said, reaching behind him. He pulled a new baseball glove out from the back of his jeans, where he'd tucked it when he arrived. He held it out, smiling. "You're a leftie, too – just like Cassie."

"I don't like baseball," she said, but it wasn't true.

He chose to ignore the remark. "I know you don't like pink, but I thought you'd like red."

She glared at him. "I don't like red either."

"I'm going to put it on Cassie's bed, okay?" She watched him like a hawk as he took the few steps toward Cassie's bed, set the glove down, and walked back to the doorway. "It's just a ball glove, Susan – I just want you to enjoy it."

"No, you don't."

Nick wasn't ready to concede yet. "I'm not going to hurt Cassie," he said gently. "I just want to give her a home."

"I don't believe you," spat Susan, "and I don't care about stupid Cassie."

There were spots on Nick's back that still said otherwise. "I think you do, Susan. She'll write to you, okay?"

"Go away." She inched backward on her bed.

"Okay, Susan." Disturbed, Nick nodded and turned to walk down the stairs and out the door. He noted that two cardboard boxes and Cassie's bike had been loaded into the back of his truck, before he saw Emily hugging Cassie.

"Be good," Emily whispered as she pulled away, and it was the first time Nick had ever seen her smile.

"I will," said Cassie happily. "Thanks for taking care of me, Miss Emily."

Emily wiped a tear away as Cassie ran to the truck and climbed in. Nick watched quietly, and then turned to Emily. "This is a little awkward, but . . . I think you should know . . . Susan said some things to Cassie-"

"Things about you wanting to have sex with her?"

Nick nodded, creasing his brow.

"Susan's a little like me," she said quietly, folding her arms over her chest. "Doesn't trust anyone . . . suspicious of everything. She's been saying those things since you started showing up." She paused, and looked away, and then looked Nick in the eye. "Susan's dad has been labeled a bad person because after he finally beat and raped his wife to death, he started pimping his six-year-old daughter out to support his drug habit. Susan . . . she's hurt, Nick. Some scars never heal, and she's just never going to trust men. You rescued Cassie. You can't rescue Susan. Don't . . . don't let what she said disturb you too much . . . she's safe here."

"I know she is," he replied gently, "but I'm still disturbed."

Emily nodded. "You know, she's jealous of Cassie, too, in her way."

"Well," replied Nick uncomfortably, "I guess we'll see how that goes. I could wind up being a tyrant; you never know."

"I can't see that happening," she replied, so softly he hardly heard her.

He smiled and waited for her to look back up at him. "I admire you, Emily," he said when she did. "I've seen where these kids would be without people like you. I'm sure you think you're not appreciated . . . I'm sure you're _not_ appreciated as much as you should be . . . and I'm sure you know that not all foster homes are like yours. But I think you're terrific at what you do. I wish there were more people in the world like you."

Although she appeared to blow it off, Emily would remember those words from Nick for a long time to come. After a pause, she said quickly, "When she gets a cold her whole neck aches . . . and you can't give her that green nighttime medicine. She won't touch it." She almost looked pleading when she said, "Give her some chamomile tea . . . with honey . . . and a heating pad."

Nick gazed at Emily with a slight smile. "It's what the boys used to drug her," he said softly. When Emily looked up at him, confused, he continued. "The night her family died. That's why she won't take it."

The screen door slammed, and both of them looked up to see Susan walking guardedly toward them.

"What is it, Susan?" asked Emily.

She stopped, and raised her head slowly to look at Nick's kneecaps. She paused to summon up enough courage to meet his eyes.

"Thank you for the baseball glove." Her voice was a whisper.

Nick smiled. "You're welcome, Susan."

"Can Cassie come for sleepovers sometimes?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "She can."

Susan looked like she had something more to say, but her courage faltered and she turned quickly to run back into the house.

He chuckled a little, looking down, pleased that he had gotten that much out of her. Looking over at Emily, he reassured her. "I know . . . I can't rescue her. I get it. It's just a ball glove."

Emily nodded. "You just take care of the one you did rescue," she said. "Now go on – I'll need to talk to Susan."

Nick nodded to her and walked to his truck. Emily watched him drive down the road, going inside only when she couldn't see him any longer.

* * *

Nick drove straight home. As he pulled into the driveway and parked, he looked over at Cassie. She was wide-eyed, looking at her new surroundings, and very quiet.

"Here we are," he said softly when he had turned off the engine. "You ready to go inside?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile, and unbuckled her seat belt. He got out and walked around to the other side to help her down from the truck, collecting her duffel bag from the floor. She walked down to the end of the driveway, clutching her family picture to her chest. She had been there a handful of times to visit Elizabeth and Ginger, but now that it was her house and her neighborhood, she looked around with new eyes. Looking down the street one way, and then the other, she quietly said, "I never lived in a real neighborhood before. My house in Pioche was in the country and so is Miss Emily's. Are there other kids that live on this street?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, I've seen a few of them around. I bet you can find them a lot better than I can."

"Cool," she said, smiling. "Let's go in the house." She raced up the driveway, Nick following.

He opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Cassie. She came into the house with a smile, still clutching the photo of her family close. With wide eyes, she looked around and took a step down the hallway, and then turned to Nick.

He smiled as he shut the door, and stepped a little closer to her. A feeling of warmth overcame him as he stood there watching her. "Welcome home, Cassie," he said gently, finally understanding himself that she truly _was_ home, with him, where she belonged.

She smiled brilliantly at him, then ran to hug him. "I'm happy to be home." When she pulled away she took his hand and led him down the hall and into the living room, where she looked around with a little smile.

"The T is for Texas, isn't it?" she asked, pointing at his rug.

"You got it, princess," he replied proudly. She giggled a little.

"Which way is my room?"

"Oh – it's upstairs. Come on." He led her to the staircase and climbed up. When they reached the top, he pointed out his own room, which was at the end of the hall on the right side of the stairs. Then he turned and headed left, and opened the door at the opposite end of the hall. "Here you go," he said. Cassie followed him in. "It's got a nice window . . . you can see the yard . . . and there's a big closet."

She looked around the room. "It's really pretty, Nick," she said quietly, placing her picture on the night table next to her bed. "Did Elizabeth help you decorate it?"

"No, she didn't, actually."

"You did it all by yourself?"

Nick cleared his throat and grinned sheepishly. "Well . . . Elizabeth helped me paint." He looked down at Cassie, who tilted her head and gave him a look that said she knew better. "Oh, okay . . . Catherine decorated it. How'm I supposed to know that pink and brown match?"

Cassie giggled. "I like it."

"Well, now it's got you . . . so it's complete." He put a hand on her back and patted lightly. "If you need anything, you gotta let me know. I don't know much about girls."

She smiled at him. "I don't really need anything, Nick. I hope you don't think I want you to buy me things now, because you're going to adopt me."

Nick smiled down at her. "Of course I don't, Cass."

"But you keep talking about taking me shopping."

"Just for stuff you need."

"I think you think I need a lot more than I really need," she said.

He sat down on her bed and took one of her hands in his. "If I do," he said gently, meeting her eyes, "it's because I know that more than anything in the world, you want to be with your family, and I know I can't give you that. It's called overcompensation."

"Oh . . . you don't have to overcon . . . overcons . . . you don't have to do that, Nicky." Then she made a face and blushed as though she'd said a bad word, covering her mouth for a moment. "I mean . . . I mean, Nick."

He smiled. "You can call me Nicky if you want to, princess," he replied.

She looked thoughtful. "But Miss Emily said I should address you respectfully. She said nicknames weren't respectful."

Nick's heart warmed at how seriously she took her new little family. "You can call me Nicky if you want to," he repeated. "Didn't you ever call your father Daddy?"

She nodded a little. "Yeah."

"See? Same thing. I think being respectful is important, but it has a lot more to do with how you treat people than it has to do with what you call them."

She nodded. "You and me'll make a good team," she said, repeating her sentiments from when the two of them had originally discussed their new arrangement.

Nick held out his fist for her to bump, and she did. "You're damn right!" he declared. When Cassie made a face at his curse, he blushed. "I probably oughtn't have said that."

Affecting wide-eyed innocence, she asked, "Said what?"

He laughed just as the doorbell rang. "You wanna get that, princess?" he asked, knowing exactly who it was.

She nodded and raced down the stairs to the entryway. Nick followed.

When Cassie opened the door, a very tall gentleman stood before her, with a wrinkled face, kind dark eyes, and gray hair. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, smiling at her. "I'm looking for a Miss Cassie McBride."

She looked up the stairs, where Nick stood smiling down on her. He didn't seem to think anything was amiss, so she turned back to the gentleman. "I'm Cassie."

"Oh – excellent. Miss Cassie, my name is Bill. I'm Nick's dad."

With a smile she shook the hand he held out and then invited him inside the house. "Nick told me a lot about you."

As he stepped into the entryway, bringing his suitcase with him, he smiled warmly down at her. "He's told me a lot about you, too, but he never said you were so pretty."

Cassie blushed furiously. "Thanks," she whispered with a bigger smile and a giggle.

Nick descended the stairs then, shaking his head at his father. They embraced when he reached the bottom, and then the younger Stokes invited the elder to have a seat in the living room.

"Absolutely. Ladies first," he said to the newest member of his family, gesturing toward the hall.

She led them to the living room and took a seat on the sofa. Nick settled next to her, and Bill, who brought his suitcase with him, set his long and lanky frame down in the wing-backed chair facing them.

"So, Miss Cassie, what has Nick told you about our family?"

She smiled and stole a glance at Nick. "Um . . . well . . . he said he's the youngest of seven and everyone's a triplet but him. And he told me you're a supreme court judge and his mom was a district attorney and she makes the best brownies in Texas."

"That's right – probably the best in the world," he said with a wink. "She's comin' the day after tomorrow to meet you and she couldn't be more happy about it. But . . . ." he paused to open up his suitcase, removing a Tupperware container, and handed it across the coffee table to her. "She wanted you to have these today."

She accepted the container and set it on her lap, opening it. With a grin, she looked up at Nick, and then at Bill. "Did she make these?"

"Miss Cassie, my wife would rather perish than send her favorite son brownies that someone else made."

"Thank you," she said brightly. Then she turned to Nick. "Can I have one?"

"Only if you give me one," he replied. "I'll get the milk."

While Nick busied himself in the kitchen, Cassie looked shyly up at Bill. "How come he's his mom's favorite?"

"Because Nicky was born prematurely – do you know what that means?" When Cassie nodded, he continued. "Now I know he's a big man today, but until he was about ten he had a hard time growing and he was just skin and bones. He couldn't stay warm and was always sick and that meant he spent a lot of time at home with us. His mama's favorite thing was to make brownies with him. My favorite thing was to take a blanket and sit on the couch with him and watch re-runs of a western called The Cisco Kid."

Nick was back in the room with three glasses of milk, which he set on the coffee table. "Best show in the history of television," he said, sitting down. "Hand over the brownies, Cassie – Cisco's been waitin' to tear into those for at least six hours."

"Who's Cisco?" she asked as she passed Bill the Tupperware.

"Nicky calls me Cisco," replied the older gentleman as he accepted the container and extracted a brownie. "The western was about a pair of cowboys – Cisco and Pancho – who rode around the west, righting wrongs and fighting crime. I still remember the day he looked up at me from where he was wrapped up in that blanket so small, and he said, 'Dad, you're Cisco, and I'm Pancho.' He was no more than five, and since that day he's called me Cisco."

"And he's called me Pancho," added Nick, taking a bite of his brownie. Then he gestured to Cassie with it, and with a mouth full, said, "They're good, aren't they?"

She nodded, her eyes even brighter. "Really good," she replied as she reached for her milk. "Do you think she'll show me how to make them? I really like to bake."

Bill laughed. "She'd like nothing better, I'm sure." He sipped his milk, and then said, "And speaking of Cisco and Pancho, I brought something for you, too." He set his glass down and reached into his suitcase again, extracting a box that had been tucked into it, and handed it to Nick.

The younger Stokes accepted the box curiously, and a smile broke out on his face when he registered what his father had given him. "They have this on DVD now?" he asked as he accepted it, his eyes bright. "Wow."

Cassie leaned over and looked at the cover. "Is that the western?"

"Yeah," he replied, a little awed. "This must be all six seasons."

"Your mother packed this for you, too," said Bill, reaching into the suitcase again. As Nick looked up he saw his father pull out a tattered black and yellow afghan and set it on the coffee table between them.

"Oh my god – that's my woobie!" He set the DVD box down and collected the blanket from the table, holding it to his nose. He inhaled the scent of the Downy that his mother always used; it made him chuckle. "I had no idea that she kept this."

"She keeps everything," Bill reported.

"What's a woobie?" asked Cassie, her nose squished up.

"It's his blanket," explained Bill, smiling. "The one we'd sit on the couch with."

Nick was touched and returned his father's quiet smile. Consciously he knew it had been his mother who'd thought to pack the blanket and most likely had given her husband the idea of giving Nick the DVDs, but it didn't change the fact that he adored his father and any affection from him meant the world to Nick.

Cassie's little hands collected the blanket from Nick, and she spread it out over their laps. "It's for us now," she said, curling into his side. And though it was not Bill's intention for this to happen, he understood that a baton had been passed. His son had become a father – in an unconventional way, to be sure, but he was a father nonetheless. While he'd always wanted his sons to have sons of their own, when he looked at Cassie gazing up at Nick, with those big, blue eyes that Jillian would fall for on the spot, he knew it didn't matter. He recognized the fact that the little girl was already working her way into his heart, by no other means than the fact that she quite obviously loved Nick. And really, that was all he'd ever wanted for his son.

* * *

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	19. Chapter 19

Around supper time, the doorbell rang again. Cassie was setting the table and Nick was busy at the stove, so Bill trotted down the hallway and opened the door.

A woman with her dark hair twisted up into a French roll stood before him. She had what appeared to be a bottle of wine in each hand. "Hello," she said with a pleasant smile. "Are Cassie and Nick home yet?"

"Yes," he replied. "They're getting ready to have supper." In the Stokes house, nothing but nothing interrupted supper – no assistance-begging deputy DA, no warrant-seeking detective, nothing.

"I'm their neighbor," replied the woman, gesturing to herself with her full hands. "Elizabeth Halles . . . Nick invited me to have supper with them this evening."

Bill's face brightened. "Oh – I see. Well, come in," he said, gesturing.

"Thanks," she replied as she entered the house. Bill shut the door behind her and then followed her down the hall to the kitchen. He watched Nick's face alight when he looked up from the stove to see the woman approaching, and understood that the neighbor was very special to his son.

"For us," she said, setting one bottle on the counter, "and for Cassie." She put down the other bottle, which was sparkling cider. "I'm not terribly sure how well apple matches with marinara, but I figured Cassie deserved something to celebrate with."

"Thanks," he replied, and moved to kiss her cheek. "Elizabeth, this is my dad." He gestured to the older man behind her.

"The honorable Judge Stokes," said Elizabeth, smiling. "It's nice to meet you."

Bill held out his hand. "You can call me Bill," he said with a smile as he silently approved her firm handshake. "It's always a pleasure to meet any friend of my son's – particularly under these happy circumstances."

"Speaking of happy circumstances, where is my newest neighbor?" asked Elizabeth of Nick with a smile.

"Setting the table," he reported, turning back to the sauce.

"I'll help her out," said Elizabeth, turning to the cupboard and pulling out four wine glasses before heading to the dining room.

Bill smiled as he watched his son admiring his neighbor's rear view as she disappeared into the dining room, and was pleased when he heard Cassie squeal and start up merry conversation with Elizabeth. He caught Nick's eye. "Your girl?"

He was a little embarrassed, but held his father's gaze. "Yes, sir."

"You're blushin', Pancho."

Nick handed his father a pot holder. "Why don't you get the bread on the table, Cisco?" Bill laughed and turned to the oven while Nick picked up the salad bowl to set on the table.

"Did you see what Elizabeth brought for me?" asked Cassie excitedly when he entered the dining room.

"I sure did," he confirmed, setting down the bowl. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Elizabeth poured the wine and cider, and the four sat down to Nick's first serious attempt at a spaghetti dinner. Once they had all had a chance to eat a little, Nick asked Cassie how she liked it.

"It's really good, Nicky," she replied, wiping her mouth. "I think it's better than Miss Emily's."

Bill didn't understand the significance of this comment, but admired Elizabeth as her eyes lit up and she laughed. Triumphant, his son turned to him to ask his own opinion, and he replied, smilingly, "It's delicious, Pancho."

With a raised eyebrow Nick then turned to Elizabeth, who was bursting to ask why his father called him Pancho. "And you, Miss Halles?"

"It's edible," she replied, the laughter in her eyes clashing with the serious expression on her face. "I'm more impressed with my own wine selection." She picked up her glass and sipped it. "Mmm."

Nick curled his lip in mock disgust at his dinner guest, but then sipped his – admittedly lovely – wine.

"She always teases him," said Cassie to Bill, grinning.

"He teases back," countered Elizabeth, her eyebrow quirked at Cassie.

"Oh! Hey, Nicky – I have a good idea," said Cassie suddenly. "Why don't we do that thing that you said your family did when you were all little kids?"

Nick creased his brow in confusion. "What thing?" There were a lot of Stokes traditions he had wistfully told Cassie about at one time or another, all of them from when he was a child.

"You know, at the dinner table. You all took turns talking about your day."

As Nick's face cleared with understanding, Bill turned to Cassie. "That's an excellent idea, Miss Cassie," he replied. "I'll start. Today, I got on a plane and came to Las Vegas. Then I met you – you'll be my fifteenth grandchild, you know – and I made supper with you and Pancho. And then I met your neighbor."

Bursting to talk, Cassie took her turn. "I came home today!" she declared, which made both Nick and Elizabeth want to hug her tight. "And I got to meet you and I never had a grandpa at all before. Then we made dinner and now Elizabeth's here."

"Y'all are leavin' one important detail out," said Nick, sipping wine again. "We had Jillian's brownies, once Cassie came home and met Cisco. And despite Miss Elizabeth's opinion, I made a very nice dinner, which I am enjoying immensely with my family and my neighbor." _And my lover,_ he added silently, the last word tapping him gently on the shoulder as he smiled at her.

Elizabeth felt three pairs of expectant eyes on her. "Well," she began, "let's see . . . oh – I found out Bobby's wife's expecting," she reported. "A colleague of mine," she explained to Bill, and then, "Mr. Christianson," to Cassie. "And we had three juries in – all convictions. It was a good day."

Bill looked up at her, interested. "You must work for the district attorney's office."

Elizabeth grinned. "You could say that," she agreed, and took a bite of her spaghetti.

Nick cleared his throat before explaining for his father. "The coy Miss Elizabeth means to say that she _is_ the district attorney, but she's too distracted with my excellent cooking."

"That's a bit of a stretch, Stokes."

Bill turned back to Elizabeth, who was sipping her wine. "You being the DA or Pancho being able to cook?"

"Nicky's cooking," she replied without missing a beat. "I really am the Clark County District Attorney."

"It's true!" chirped Cassie from next to Elizabeth, swinging her feet back and forth. Elizabeth clinked glasses with her.

Bill laughed and shook his head at his son. "Well, by God, Pancho – I reckon your mother'll be pleased as punch." Nick could not possibly have been more proud, and it showed in how he smiled at his father. "You know, Miss Elizabeth, Mrs. Stokes and I tried to set Billy and all of our girls up with lawyers. None of them listened to us, so by the time Nicky graduated from college, we had given up."

Elizabeth smiled at Bill, unable to stop herself from blushing. She was grateful when Cassie interrupted with a question.

"What kind of convictions did you get today, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth sat back and spread her napkin on her lap, chewing the last bite of spaghetti she had taken. "One guy ran a red light," she said of the first conviction, which was actually a near-fatal hit and run. "One guy stole something from a nice lady." It wasn't an altogether eloquent euphemism for rape, but she wasn't going to tell Cassie what the bastard had actually done. "Willows was pleased about that. And the last guy . . . let's say he has an anger management problem."

"Is that a crime?" asked Cassie, confused.

"No, but it's a crime to kick people in the chest." Especially when "people" meant the defendant's boss, who had a pacemaker, because it caused a malfunction and the fifty-two year old died of a heart attack.

"I'm glad you got convictions. She's good at that," Cassie informed Bill, nodding. Bill shifted his look from Cassie to Elizabeth.

"I am," she replied. "It's true."

"How long have you been in office?" asked Bill, who approved mightily of the way she turned toward Cassie when she spoke to her.

"Three years," she replied, munching bread. "I'll be starting a re-election campaign soon. I understand your wife was a DA for over twenty years."

"That's right," replied Bill, smiling. "My Jillian, she stabilized that office – when she won her campaign back in 1975, you couldn't spit without hittin' some kind of corruption. It wasn't all sinister, movie-type corruption, but bad eggs are bad eggs."

"You gotta crack 'em before they start to stink," agreed Elizabeth, who winked at Cassie when she giggled.

"I like this little girl, Pancho," said Bill, turning his attention toward Nick for a moment. "She's a keeper, like your mamma. Anyway, Miss Elizabeth, the decent attorneys were over-worked, had little support and a paltry budget. She fought for those attorneys," here he shook his fork at Elizabeth, "weeded out the bad ones, rewarded the good ones, and fought for Houston County. Every attorney, every clerk, every stenographer – hell, even the judges – loved her. You remember her retirement party, Pancho?"

"Yeah," replied Nick through a mouthful of pasta. "You shoulda seen it, Lizzy. Almost a thousand people, and she kissed every single one of 'em."

Elizabeth smiled at Nick and then at his father. "I can't wait to meet her," she replied genuinely. "She sounds like an inspiring woman." She looked over at Cassie then, who was watching the adult conversation intently. "And you got to have the famous brownies this morning."

Her eyes brightened. "They were good. I'm going to see if she'll show me how to make them."

"You'll have to see if she can teach you how to cook, too," said Elizabeth, "or you'll be stuck with awful dinners like this one." She gestured to her empty plate, wine glass in hand.

"Hush," said Nick, and if it weren't for the twinkle in his big chocolate eyes she would've thought he was really upset with her teasing.

When they were all done eating Elizabeth dried the dishes that Cassie washed, and they figured out together where all of them belonged. After a game of Scrabble, which she resoundingly won, Elizabeth announced to a very disappointed Cassie that she had to go home.

"I have to take care of Ginger, remember," she said as she hugged the little girl as they stood in the entryway saying good-night. "Besides, I'll see you tomorrow when everyone from the lab comes over for lunch." She left a kiss on Cassie's cheek.

"It was very nice to meet you, Miss Elizabeth," said Bill as he shook her hand. "I'm sure we'll cross paths again – and don't forget, my Jillian knows a thing or two about being re-elected. She'd be delighted to discuss it with you."

"Thank you, sir," replied Elizabeth with a smile. "Have a safe flight home."

"Good night." He patted her hand, and then turned to Cassie. "Miss Cassie, while these two say good-night, why don't you give me that tour of your room?"

"Okay!" she chirped happily. "Good night, Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth waved as the two of them walked down the hallway and up the stairs, and then turned to Nick. "Your dad's nice . . . Pancho."

He smiled. "I'll tell you all about it the next time I get you alone." The words _my neighbor, my lover_ tapped him on the shoulder again, a little louder this time.

She laughed softly, the sound low in her throat. "That might not be for a while, you know. You have a pair of prying eyes now."

He filled his lungs with air. "I can live with that," he replied, and then let it out, flaring his nostrils. He paused a moment to look into her eyes; they were both flushed and smiling. "I can't believe she's actually home."

Tears sprung to Elizabeth's eyes. "Oh, Nicky . . . you look so happy."

"I am," he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She let him pull her in close. "I am, too," she whispered. "For you . . . for Cassie . . . for me. I've never been a part of something like this. I don't think I've ever . . ." She trailed off before she finished her statement, knowing it sounded kind of pathetic. When he quirked an eyebrow to encourage her to continue, she took a breath and said, "I don't think I've ever felt this much . . . joy."

_My lover, my friend_ was there again, and he kissed her in response. "I guess kids do that to people."

Elizabeth studied his face a moment. "So do good men."

Nick smiled bashfully and gave her one last kiss. "You better get to Ginger."

She laid her head on his shoulder and squeezed his torso. "Good night, Nicky."

Reluctantly, they parted. Nick watched her cross their yards to her front door and waited until her front lights were on and he could hear Ginger barking to welcome her home. When he closed the door, he let his hand linger there a moment.

_My lover who I love._

* * *

"I don't suppose any of this means you'll be comin' home, Pancho?"

Cassie was in bed, having survived Nick's first experience brushing her hair out. She tried to hide it but had been a little apprehensive of going to bed, and Nick understood why – everything was new that day, her routine had changed, and although it had been a good day and she was tired, she was going to bed in an unfamiliar room. He didn't question her, but reassured her as best as he could. "Don't forget I'm right down the hall, princess," he said before tucking her in. He left a kiss on her forehead and the nightlight on before welcoming her home once more and wishing her a good night's sleep.

Now Nick was quiet a moment before he answered his father, sitting on his couch in his pajamas with a glass of water. "I don't think so, Cisco," he replied gently. "I have a life here."

Bill smiled sadly. "That's about what I expected you to say."

"It's not Vegas that makes me want to stay," said Nick, sipping his water. "It's the work . . . the people. Cassie and Elizabeth."

"I know," replied Bill. "Have you . . . have you spoken to Billy lately?"

Nick finished his water and set the glass on the coffee table. "No. Not since he accused me of being gay because I'm not married yet."

"Maybe you should give him a call," suggested Bill. "Might go a long way."

Nick leveled a surprised look at his father. "He should be calling me," he replied, his tone firm. "All the girls called this afternoon to talk to Cassie, and where was Billy? Too busy defending worthless criminals. If our situations were reversed you wouldn't be telling him to call me."

Bill shook his head. "That's pretty harsh, Pancho. Honestly, where does all of this anger come from?"

"I just don't understand why you and I aren't as close as you and he are," said Nick, the words coming out in a rush. "I don't feel unloved, Cisco, not by a long shot. But even if I lived next door to you, you'd be callin' up Billy to watch the Cowboys play, not me."

Bill looked away, sighing. Nick almost felt bad for opening an old wound, but wanted to put the matter at rest. When his father turned back to him, he had a pleading expression on his face, and he spoke gently. "Don't you understand, Pancho? Most days I was happy to walk into the house and find you breathing. Every time you got pneumonia I had to wonder how long I had with you – had to wonder if I'd take you to the hospital and come home empty-handed."

Nick was quieted by this statement. "I don't remember bein' that sick."

"It was all normal to you. Your mother and I did everything we could to make sure we were the only ones who worried about you . . . and we did worry, Pancho, both of us. We didn't want the other kids to worry about you or to think that they weren't as important to us as you were, but it was a tough couple of years. When you were born we fought so hard to save you – we had every specialist in the country come and take a poke at you to see what they could do for us, to save our little baby Nicholas. Premature was as good as a death sentence back then, Pancho, and you were more than a month old before we knew for sure you'd make it."

"Must've been so hard," said Nick, really thinking about it for the first time, "trying to maintain some kind of normalcy for Billy and the girls, bein' with me at the hospital . . . and you still working."

"It was terrible on your mother," continued Bill, looking at the photograph of Jillian on Nick's coffee table. "Back then it was OK to let women think that difficulties in their pregnancies were their own fault. She was riddled with guilt about how you were, more guilt about leaving Billy and the girls home with the nanny so often, and even more because it was a tough time between her and I." He looked back up at Nick. "I don't want to belittle what you're doing here, Pancho, and I know you love Cassie, but she's not your own. There are some things that you just don't understand – you may never understand them, unless things go the right way with that Miss Elizabeth."

The words stung, but Nick knew it was useless to point it out. He cleared his throat uneasily and then said, "If you could just tell me . . . that Cassie's no different in your eyes than any of your other grandkids . . . that's all I really care about."

Knowing there was still something not right between them, Bill tilted his head. "Ah, Pancho . . . I don't mean . . . I never meant to imply that your Cassie means less. She doesn't; not at all. It's just . . . the experience that you'll have as a parent will be far different from the experience I had . . . far from the ones your sisters have." He shook his head, trying to come up with the right thing to say for once. "Listen, I don't love Billy any more or less than I love you. Billy and I just . . . connected, on some level, when he was very young. I think it was because we both missed your mother so terribly. She was on bed rest, with the second set of triplets . . . then you came along and not only was she on bed rest again before you were born, but afterward she was completely gone from the house. Emotionally, she was so far from me that there were days I didn't recognize her. You were two before she let me touch her again . . . three before we made love again." He looked away, embarrassed, knowing that Nick was, too. "Can you imagine that, Pancho – not being able to make love to your wife?"

Nick wanted to shoot back a remark about how he wouldn't understand because he didn't have a wife, but held his tongue. His father had never been so open with him, and he didn't want to give him cause to clam up now. He simply shook his head.

Bill was quiet for a long moment before he said, "It would mean the world to me if that little girl would call me Grandpa Cisco."

Nick smiled happily at his father, these simple words a balm to his old sores. All that mattered now, he knew, was Cassie. If his father accepted Cassie, loved Cassie, treated Cassie with all the respect and adoration she deserved – like a Stokes – then that was it. He'd find a way to let go of old resentment; he'd find a way to get along with Billy and his hussy of a wife. "I think she'd love to," he replied.

Bill nodded. "Good. Now, I have a plane to catch in the morning, so let's get to bed."

Nick agreed, and they rose from the couch and headed toward the stairs, Nick following Bill. The younger Stokes had only climbed three stairs when he paused, and turned a well-trained ear upstairs.

Bill had heard the whimpering, too. "What is that, Pancho?"

Faintly, they both heard, "_Mommy_!"

"Cassie," breathed Nick, and took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

Bill followed his son into Cassie's pink room and stood by the door. Nick had flipped the light on and was sitting on the edge of Cassie's bed, trying to gently shake her.

"Cassie, wake up, sweetheart," he cajoled, his tone firm but quiet. When she started to strike the arms that were trying to comfort her, he knew he'd have to be more forceful. Taking her by the shoulders, he sat her up and all but barked in her face. "Cassie!"

Her eyes opened a little and she looked blindly at Nick, but said nothing. Her breathing was heavy and erratic.

"Cassie, it's me, Nick. You're safe at home."

"No, I'm not," she wailed, and tried to wrestle out of his grip. "Leave me alone! I want my mom! What did you do to my mom?"

He didn't argue with her, but held firm. "Cassie, tell me what you see."

"No!"

He shook her again. "Cassie, it's Nick. You're safe. I want you to tell me what you see."

She stopped struggling, but her little body was still tense. "See?"

"Yes. Tell me five things that you see."

"I see _you_!" she spat, disgust in her voice.

"That's right . . . I'm Nick. You see me." She seemed to register this, as her eyes focused a little more on his face. "Now, what else do you see?"

Her eyes darted around the room. "I . . . see . . . gumballs."

"Okay . . . that's good. What else?"

Cassie's breathing settled a little, and she continued. "I see books and curtains."

"One more, princess."

"I see a dresser."

Nick flicked a glance toward his father, who was still standing in the doorway. He looked fascinated but appalled, so Nick decided to put him to work. "How 'bout some water, Cisco?"

The judge nodded. "Sure. Sure, Pancho." But he didn't move.

Nick turned back to Cassie, whose breathing had returned to normal. "Where are you, Cassie?"

"I'm with you . . . I'm . . . home." Her big blue eyes finally focused on his brown ones, which smiled comfortingly. She wanted to smile back, to show Nick she was okay and to be strong, but the images that had just tromped through her sleep wouldn't let her. "Why won't they go away?" she implored, her face scrunched up, and then she burst into tears. "Why won't the nightmares go away, Nicky?"

Nick pulled her close, rubbing her back, and then caught his father still standing in the doorway. "Please, Cisco – she needs a glass of water."

Bill looked at Nick as if he hadn't been there. "Sure. I'm sorry – I'll get it. Be right back." He moved swiftly down the hall; Nick waited to roll his eyes until he heard the footfalls on the stairs. He leaned with Cassie in his arms against the footboard of her sleigh bed and waited for the sobs to subside.

When Cassie had settled down for the most part, Bill handed her the glass of water. She sat up and drank it quickly, and the empty glass was replaced with tissues in her hand. She wiped her eyes and nose and then slumped against Nick again as Bill went back to the kitchen to put the glass in the sink.

"How often do you have nightmares, Cassie?"

She closed her eyes against the memory of the last time he'd asked her something similar, sitting on Emily's couch. "Sometimes," she replied, her voice shaky, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"It's okay," he replied, his chin resting on her head, still rubbing her back. "Do you think . . . once a month?"

"It depends," she whispered. "Sometimes I have them every night for a couple of nights and then I won't get one for a long time. But they're not always . . . they're not always so bad."

"I'll help you make them go away," he vowed, his voice low, talking into her hair.

She was quiet a while. "Right after my mom and dad died, I had them every night," she whispered. "Bad ones. I screamed and screamed and Sheriff Brackett had to splash water in my face sometimes." Nick shook his head in dismay. "The kids in Pioche all said I went crazy. Do you think I'm crazy, Nick?"

He thumped her back. "Hey, sit up." She did, and he touched her chin as he said, "Now listen to me, because this is very important. You're _not_ crazy, Cassie – not at all. I think you have something called post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Isn't that just a grown-up word for crazy?"

His heart broke in two. "No, princess . . . it's a temporary condition. When your family died, you experienced something terrible – something most people would never dream of. Your mind is still trying to make sense of it and you're still dealing with the fear and loss."

She shook her head, as thought she didn't want to believe it. "But it's been so long . . . shouldn't I be over it by now? Susan says I should be over it."

"Susan isn't over what happened to her, and she's in therapy," said Nick, annoyed. "No one's helping you talk through these things. How are you supposed to recover if no one helps you?"

She was quiet a moment. "I don't know," she replied. "I didn't know I needed to recover from anything."

"Well, that's what I'm here for. Tomorrow morning I'm going to call a therapist I know and we'll see if she can talk to you."

"But I don't want to talk to a therapist. Why can't I just talk to you?"

"I know you don't want to talk to someone who seems like a stranger, Cassie, but I think it would be best. I need you to trust me on this."

"But I'm scared."

"I'll be with you. I promise." He held up his right pinkie.

She linked pinkies with him and then wrapped her other arm around his neck. When he squeezed her small frame with his free arm, she sobbed. He made soft shushing noises, patting her back, and telling her it would be okay. When she was done crying she sat back again and asked, "Talking to a therapist will make the nightmares go away?"

Nick nodded. "It's not magic, honey, but it does work."

"Okay," she replied, her voice still thick. "I'll trust you."

He smiled. "Good. Now, do you think you can get back to sleep?"

"Yeah," she replied quietly, nodding. "Can you stay here until I fall asleep?"

"Sure, princess," he replied readily, nodding. She moved out of his arms to crawl under the quilt. He helped her straighten it out and pulled it up under her chin, and left a kiss on her forehead. He took up residence at the foot of her bed, thinking with amusement that he was like Ginger, a monstrous teddy bear curled up at the foot of Elizabeth's bed.

She fell asleep quickly. When he was assured by her even and deep breathing that her sleep was peaceful, he rose again, leaving on her lamp, and left the room, headed for the kitchen. He met his father in the hallway.

Rubbing his eyes, he asked, "You okay, Cisco?"

The elder Stokes quirked his eyebrow at his son. "Is _she_ okay?"

"She'll be all right," replied Nick.

Bill's eyes flicked toward Cassie's room, and then met Nick's. "You handled that well. _Really_ well."

Nick's heart thumped with pride. "Thanks."

"You'll be a great dad, Pancho." Bill placed his hand on Nick's bicep, squeezing. "It's hard for me to think of you that way . . . you're my little boy. But you're gonna be a hell of a dad."

Nick smiled and hugged his father. "Thanks, Cisco. That means a lot."

"Probably a bit overdue," Bill replied, pulling back. "Let's get some sleep, huh?"

Nick nodded and headed for his bedroom. Once he laid down, he let out a breath, thinking about the day. His father had said that there were some things he didn't understand – would never understand – because he didn't have a child of his own. But the truth was that despite it, there were things that the Honorable William Garrett Stokes the Third, as intelligent and wise as he was, didn't and would never understand. How much Nick identified with Cassie was just the tip of the iceberg. He'd never told his parents about his nightmares, not even his mother when she was still staying with him in the aftermath of his burial ordeal. His mother may have sympathized, but his father would have seen it as a weakness. In Bill's opinion, the things that life threw at a person were to be dealt with in an orderly and logical fashion, without delay and without involving others, if others' involvement was not strictly necessary. He didn't understand, despite the troubles he experienced when Nick was an infant, that sometimes what life threw at you was messy, that it didn't come in a logical order, and that taking a swipe at it to make it go away was a little like using a baseball bat to swat a fly. You take out the house in the process, and in the end, the fly gets away.

But it was all okay, he reasoned as he turned onto his side, wishing Elizabeth were there to snuggle with. Life had thrown him utter shit sometimes, but it had also thrown him the most precious thing he could ever dream of – it had thrown him Cassie. Today began a new chapter in his life. He had a little girl to think about, and his father was right. Continuing to feud with Billy was a waste of his energy, which was better spent doing what he promised Cassie he would do.

* * *

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	20. Chapter 20

Dr. Maria Schrantz was a tall, slender woman with dark hair, porcelain skin, and striking blue eyes. During his first session with her, Nick had taken incredible comfort in the kindness of those eyes. His first thought upon meeting her was that if the eyes truly were the windows to the soul, then sweet Jesus did she have a beautiful soul. But that had been not much more than a week after he had been yanked by a rope out of a dirt-filled box as a bomb erupted in his wake, so any distraction was more than welcome. She was as insightful as she was calm and even-tempered, and had an almost ethereal quality about her.

The morning following Cassie's nightmare was a Saturday, but Nick called her office anyway, knowing that she had occasional Saturday sessions. She invited them both in to talk to her that morning. She felt it was important for Cassie to be seen as soon as possible.

They arrived at ten o'clock, and once Cassie was introduced to her, Dr. Schrantz wanted to talk to Nick first. "Just for a few minutes," she was quick to assure the little girl when she gave a worried look to Nick. "Besides, I need you to fill this out for me." She handed Cassie a sheet of paper clipped to a clipboard and a pen. "This will just help me learn about you and how you're feeling."

Cassie nodded and took the clipboard, having done this when she was first delivered to the care of the Clark County Department of Family Services.

Dr. Schrantz followed Nick into her office and sat down in her chair while he took a familiar position on her couch.

"How have you been, Nick?" she asked with a pleasant smile.

"Great," he replied, and unlike the other times he'd sat in the same chair and declared the same thing, he now had a look about him that made Dr. Schrantz believe it.

"I remember you telling me about Cassie's case in one of the last sessions we had," she began, and then entreated him to tell the remainder of the story. She listened placidly while he told her, and then asked, "Does Cassie know about your kidnapping?"

He shook his head. "No," he admitted.

"Had it not been for that event, you may never have met Cassie. Don't you think it's important for her to understand your motivation?"

Nick was quiet. "I just thought . . . she's just a kid. Why burden her with stories of such . . . malice?"

"You and I have talked about your relationship with your dad," said the good doctor. "You've said that you found it frustrating that he never opened up to you . . .that you didn't understand his motivation."

Nick understood where she was going, but was doubtful. "This is a little different, don't you think?"

"I don't think anything can be harmed by telling her what happened to you. We keep certain things from our children in order to protect their innocence, but there's a part of Cassie's innocence that's already lost and keeping this from her won't bring it back. I'm not suggesting that you should make a production of telling her or that you should tell her every detail. I'm just saying that if it should ever come up, you should consider it. Just keep in mind how much it hurt to think that there was something wrong with you, as a child trying to understand his father."

Looking away, Nick thought about it. He couldn't imagine any circumstance in which it would ever be appropriate to tell her all about his private hell, but he had faith in Dr. Schrantz's methods and theories. She hadn't ever steered him wrong and it had been her solid guidance that had helped to keep him grounded him in the weeks following his own ordeal. "I'll think on it," he promised. He was quiet then for a moment, thinking back on the conversation he'd had with Cassie in the little café the first time he took her to Las Vegas. "She asked me once why I worked so hard to find her when everyone else thought she was dead. I just told her that I didn't want to tell her."

"What reason did you give?"

"I said it was too much. For her and for me."

Dr. Schrantz nodded and paused, in that way that therapists do, before she replied, "More for you, maybe?"

Nick chuckled. "Maybe."

"Is it still too much, Nick? Because if it is, we should resume our sessions."

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I, uh . . . I have a girlfriend now . . ."

"That's good," said Dr. Schrantz approvingly.

"I was okay with telling her about the nightmares. But then . . . she already knew about my kidnapping."

"But she's still someone whose respect you wanted to keep. As I recall, the last time we discussed this you were concerned about your ability to maintain any kind of relationship once your partner discovered that you – if I remember your words correctly – woke up screaming like a baby who wants his mama in the middle of the night."

Nick cleared his throat and leveled a sardonic look at the doctor. "I also said I was concerned about physically hurting anyone I was in bed with, but you had to bring up the crying baby line, didn't you?"

She smirked. "Your words, Nick. Are the nightmares coming any less frequently?"

"Yes and no," he replied, sounding confused, even to his own ears. "For a while they seemed to be tapering off, but I've had a few more than usual lately. Last month and a half, maybe? I don't really remember them anymore, so they're not as bothersome. Once I wake up, anyway."

"And how are you sleeping?"

"A lot better lately," he replied. "Although . . you know. I have that girlfriend."

Dr. Schrantz smiled. "I think you're doing well, Nick. Better sleep is always a good sign, even if you've had more frequent disruptions in the last few weeks. With the recent changes in your life you're bound to feel some anxiety, and that's likely to cause sleep disruptions for anyone. And I'm glad that you brought Cassie in – we'll get her on the right path, too."

Nick smiled appreciatively at Dr. Schrantz as she rose to retrieve Cassie from the waiting area. When the little girl walked into the room she sat down close to Nick on the couch, leaning into him.

"Nervous?" he whispered.

"A little."

"She's all right, Casserole. Try not to be nervous." He winked down at her.

"I'll try," she replied, smiling at her nickname. "What did you guys talk about?"

"Me," he replied. "I was just getting her caught up on what's been going on with me for the last couple of months."

Dr. Schrantz sat down across from the pair and smiled comfortingly at Cassie. She struck up general conversation, then turned to the questionnaire that Cassie had filled out, and then discussed, in general terms, the night that the McBrides had been murdered and she had been kidnapped, as well as what went on afterward.

"Here's what I think, Cassie. Nightmares are more often than not triggered by what's happening in our subconscious. In your subconscious, there are memories and feelings that you haven't faced since the night your family died. When you're awake, you don't think about those things, but when you go to sleep at night your mind takes over. When you're feeling the same way you felt that night – scared, insecure, anxious – that's when the nightmares happen."

"But I feel safe with Nick," replied Cassie in a small voice. "I feel normal. I have a home again, and my own room again. Why don't the nightmares stop when everything's normal again?"

Dr. Schrantz smiled. "Normal is a relative term with regard to family life," she replied. "Everyone's version of normal is different. But the reason the nightmares didn't magically stop the moment you moved into Nick's house, Cassie, is because somewhere deep in your mind, there are things about that night that still upset you. I suspect that deep down you're upset about some other things that've happened to you since then, as well. We'll talk about that night; you'll help me understand what those things might be. I'll help you understand what they mean and we'll figure out how you can cope."

"What's that mean?"

"It means you come to terms with what happened and accept it. It means you'll learn to forgive the people who murdered your family and hurt you."

Her face scrunched up. "That won't happen," she declared. "They don't deserve my forgiveness."

Dr. Schrantz's eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. "We'll work on that," she replied.

It was a look and a phrase that Nick knew well, and he turned to look at Cassie. "You keep an eye on this one," he told the little girl. "She's tricky."

Dr. Schrantz raised an eyebrow at her former patient. "Don't listen to Nick, Cassie. I'm perfectly respectable." Then she turned to Nick. "Strictly speaking, I don't think this is PTSD. Emotional outbursts are common with lack of sleep and you haven't mentioned any other telltale signs like difficulty concentrating or any avoidance symptoms."

"Well . . . there's one thing," said Nick, a little uneasily, as he looked down at Cassie.

"What?" she asked, truly confused.

"The pool," he replied. "I know you've only been there a day, but you didn't want to have anything to do with the pool yesterday, and I know you used to love to swim. You told me so in the hospital when I first met you."

Cassie's eyes were big and almost fearful. "I just didn't want to go out there," she said quietly. "That's all."

"Have you been swimming since the night your family died, Cassie?" asked Dr. Schrantz, her eyebrow quirked.

Her face was flushed when she turned to look at the doctor. "No . . . but Miss Emily doesn't have a pool and it's just been a long time since I've been swimming."

Dr. Schrantz nodded and paused, and Nick knew she was giving Cassie some time to think before she made any kind of reply.

"And swimming," continued Cassie, looking at the floor, "swimming reminds me of Peter. He taught me how to swim."

"That's something we can work on in our sessions," said Dr. Schrantz, smiling comfortingly. "If we work together we can make swimming something you love to do again. It doesn't have to be a reminder of the loss of your family for the rest of your life."

Cassie met her eyes. "Okay," she said with a nod. "But I really just want to make the nightmares go away."

"We can do both," the doctor reassured her. "Right, Nick?"

"Right," he said with a nod, and squeezed Cassie.

She turned back to Cassie. "I'd like to see you once a week," she said. "I'll teach you some coping skills and we can try to keep the nightmares at bay until we learn what's causing them." She went on to tell Nick and Cassie to develop a bedtime routine in their house and gave Cassie some ideas on how she could cope in the short term. When they left, Cassie was smiling.

"What's the Cheshire Cat smirk for, Cassie Jane?" asked Nick, holding her hand as they strolled through the parking lot.

"You're taking me home," she replied.

"And?"

"You don't have to leave," she said simply. "Your friends are coming over to meet me."

He stopped in the parking lot and kissed her forehead. "They'll be your friends too, sweetness."

She pulled him toward the truck again. "Do any of them have kids?"

"Catherine does," he replied. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Once they reached the parking spot that contained Nick's truck he helped her up into the cab and waited until her seatbelt was buckled. "Catherine's daughter's name is Lindsey. She, uh . . . she lost her dad a few years ago. She remembers what it was like . . . wanting to talk to someone her own age about it, who might understand. She's a little older than you, but she wanted me to tell you that if you want to talk to someone who's not an adult . . . who'd maybe understand . . . she'd love to listen."

Cassie smiled at him, but was unsure of what to say. "But if I want to, I can always talk to you, right Nick?"

He smiled affectionately. "Right. No matter what – what my mom used to say was that I could tell her anything as long as it was the truth. So now I'm tellin' you – you can tell me anything as long as it's the truth."

She nodded. "Okay. You have nice friends."

He nodded. "Yeah, I do." Patting her leg, he moved to shut her door and then climbed in on his own side to take them home.

* * *

The following day Nick and Cassie picked his mother up from the airport. Jillian Stokes was always dressed to the nines, no matter what, so he told Cassie to put on her best dress, and put himself into a pair of pressed khakis and a polo shirt. Cassie's best dress turned out to be a casual knit arrangement in pale pink, which Nick recognized from the day he first saw her at the court house. It wouldn't be considered "Sunday best" by Jillian's standards, but he figured she'd want to take her shopping anyway.

Once she collected her suitcases, Jillian was able to locate her son quite easily – he was relatively tall, and no matter his age, his face was like a beacon to her. She approached anxiously, noting the pride in her baby boy's smile, and when the crowd thinned and parted she beheld the little slip of a girl holding his hand, her round blue eyes excited.

Like her husband had done a few days prior, she momentarily ignored Nick. "Hello," she said to the smiling girl who had a tight grip on her son's hand. "You must be Cassie."

She nodded and smiled fully at Jillian. "Yeah."

"I'm Jillian, Nick's mom. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," said the very properly dressed lady, holding out her hand.

Cassie took it, surprised at how soft it was. It made her relax. "It's nice to meet you, too," said Cassie. "You look a lot like Nicky."

"Well, I'll take that as a compliment – my Nicky's a very handsome man." She turned to her son then, and embraced him tightly. "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you, too, Mama," he replied.

"What are our plans for today?" asked Jillian once they parted.

"The only thing I have planned is dinner," said Nick, "so whatever you want to do is good with us."

Jillian beamed at her son, and then at the little girl by his side. "With us," she repeated, pleased. "That sounds so nice, Nicky."

He turned pink and kissed her cheek. "Let's go," he said, taking her suitcases.

When they arrived at Nick's house it was early afternoon. Jillian indicated that she wanted a little time to get to know Cassie, and once she was settled and refreshed she brought several books down to the living room where Cassie and Nick were reading. The son was shooed off the couch and the mother took his place.

Disinterested in the forensics journal on his lap, Nick watched from the window seat as Jillian handed Cassie the books, the first of what would prove many gifts to her fifteenth grandchild, and listened as they happily conversed about school and Nancy Drew and being in plays.

After a while Nick rose and offered his mother a cup of tea. She accepted and followed him so that she could learn where he kept things. In the kitchen, he set the rarely-used kettle on the stove and retrieved a mug and the tea while she watched.

"It's a beautiful house," she offered as they waited for the water to boil. "You and Audra did well."

"Yes," he agreed. "I really like it. I thought it'd feel much too big, but it's workin' for me."

Jillian smiled at her son. "It's good to see you settled down," she said, "even if it's so far from home."

"I was thinkin' we could take a vacation right before school starts next year," said Nick. "I'd like it if Cassie could come visit the ranch – she'd love the horses, and we could camp . . . like we used to do sometimes as kids. It'd be nice if she could meet all her new cousins."

"That sounds perfect. I'll arrange it with the girls," offered Jillian. Nick nodded his thanks, and she turned to put a tea bag in the waiting cup. "So, what have you got planned for dinner, Nicky?"

"We've been invited to the neighbor's for dinner," he said, not meeting her eyes.

"Oh – have they got kids Cassie's age?"

Nick looked up at her, pausing a moment before he replied, "The neighbor's a single woman."

Hoisting an eyebrow, Jillian asked, "How single is she?"

"She's got a guy," he offered with a smirk.

His mother smiled. "So there are two girls in your life."

"Yes, ma'am. Two very special girls."

"What's her name?"

"Elizabeth."

She nodded, noting his flushed cheeks. "Tell me one thing about Miss Elizabeth that I'll like."

His smile deepening, Nick replied, "You'll like a lot of things about her."

"For example, Nicholas?" asked Jillian, slight exasperation in her tone.

"She loves Cassie," he said, knowing that was more than likely uppermost on the list of what she wanted to know.

She nodded approvingly. "That's a good start. How old is Miss Elizabeth?"

"She's forty-two."

Since Jillian wouldn't have asked unless she expected opposite numbers, this surprised her, and she lowered her chin. "Is she a divorcee?"

"No, ma'am. She's never been married."

Jillian looked horrified. "At forty-two? What's wrong with her?"

"Nothin'," he replied, shaking his head. "She's perfect."

"Well . . . tell me about her," said Jillian. "Your perfect Miss Elizabeth."

"What've you heard from Cisco and Audra?"

She shook her head. "Audra says she hasn't heard from you much in the last month and a half. Your father hasn't said anything. How long's this been going on?"

"I've known her for a long time," he replied. "It's only been recently that we've been seeing each other."

His mother looked interested. "Long enough then, I reckon. Did your daddy meet her?" Nick nodded, turning to remove the now-boiling kettle off the burner. "What did he think?"

Nick was quiet a moment as he poured the water into Jillian's mug. "He said he liked her, and that you'd be pleased as punch."

She smiled at him when he set the kettle back down on the stove. "You know I'm gonna make that decision for myself, right Nicky?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, "but I have no doubt you'll like her."

"That's what Billy said about Missy," she reminded him. Jillian was not fond of her daughter-in-law.

"Hey, now," he said quickly, holding up a finger and shaking it – as much as he dared – at his mother, "don't go comparing my Lizzy to _that_ so-called woman."

"As long as she has a job, it'll be an improvement, so let's start there," said Jillian, her lips pursed at his finger.

Slightly sheepish, he put his hand back on the counter. Then he smiled. "As a matter of fact, she's a lawyer."

"I'm listening," she replied, turning to her tea cup. "What kind of a lawyer?"

"She's the Clark County DA."

Jillian stopped bobbing the tea bag in her mug and turned toward her son. "Are you serious?"

"Would I lie to my mama?"

"About somethin' like this, you better not," she replied. "You may be all grown up, but I'd still take you over my knee."

Nick smiled. "I'm perfectly serious. She's smart, focused, dedicated . . . even-tempered, if you don't piss her off. And as if that weren't enough, she loves Cassie."

"And you love her," surmised Jillian, whose eyes were full. "Oh, Nicky . . . have all my years of waiting for a decent daughter-in-law finally paid off?"

"You're jumpin' the gun a bit, Mama," he said quietly. "But maybe."

"Does she make you happy?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then I'll wait, patiently, a little longer."

Nick nodded. "Okay," he replied. Then he leaned over and kissed her cheek, and they re-joined Cassie in the living room.

* * *

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	21. Chapter 21

**Note:** Thanks for all of your lovely reviews and ongoing support! I'm glad you're enjoying. We're heading toward the end now, so some things will start to be wrapped up. Enjoy - and by all means, send those lovely reviews!!

* * *

Because Ginger was so big, she instantly terrified most people. Her master had no doubt, however, that Nick's mother, a formidable woman by all accounts, would not be intimidated by a dog, even if she was the size of a pony.

It was with rarely-used force in her tone that Elizabeth instructed Ginger to behave herself. This voice, as it usually did, served to put Ginger on her guard. She knew that if she annoyed Elizabeth any treats would be a long time coming, so when the doorbell rang at six o'clock she walked to the entryway and sat down to wait for Elizabeth, who had followed.

Dressed in a short-sleeved yellow charmeuse blouse and dark blue jeans, red low-heeled peep-toed shoes, and various red accessories, she waved a finger at the dog before she opened the door. "Sit," she commanded. Ginger sat. "Stay," she said, the same, unmistakable, don't-even-think-of-disobeying tone in her voice. Ginger stayed.

When Elizabeth opened the door Cassie greeted her boisterously, and the DA kissed her on the forehead before she allowed her to pass by so she could lavish attention upon Ginger. The Stokeses followed her in, first the mother, then the son.

"Welcome," said Elizabeth politely as she moved to close the door.

"Elizabeth, this is Jillian, my mother," said Nick with no small amount of pride. "Mom, this is Elizabeth Halles."

"Hello, Mrs. Stokes," said Elizabeth, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Like her husband before her, Jillian approved of the younger woman's firm handshake and then said, "it's a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Elizabeth."

Elizabeth invited them into the kitchen, where she offered them seats at the island and a glass of wine. As Jillian seated herself, Nick declined the wine but cheekily reached into Elizabeth's refrigerator for a beer. Jillian accepted the wine offer and wanted to smack her son.

"And what about for you, ma'am?" Elizabeth asked of Cassie, tapping her on the nose with an index finger playfully. "I have water . . . or juice . . . or perhaps a refreshing glass of milk would hit the spot."

"Water, please," she replied with a smile. Elizabeth retrieved it for her as she climbed up into the spot next to Nick, who was next to his mother.

Once a chilled glass of Riesling was in Jillian's hand, she began her interrogation. After general pleasantries about Elizabeth's home and dog, she asked, "Have you always lived in Nevada?"

"Except for school," replied Elizabeth, "I have. My parents were from River City, Michigan. They eloped to Las Vegas and wound up staying."

"What does eloped mean?" asked Cassie, who was splitting her attention between Elizabeth and her dog.

"It means they ran away and got married in secret," said Elizabeth, a conspiratorial tone to her voice.

"I like that idea," said Nick under his breath, so only his mother could hear.

"Don't you dare," she hissed back, pinching his thigh.

Elizabeth turned a suspicious eye toward them. Nick simply smiled sweetly at her, his expression all innocence. She was about to warn him that she had her eye on him when Jillian interrupted.

"And is there a story behind their elopement, other than spontaneity?"

Elizabeth sipped her wine, and unabashedly told the story of which she knew the apparently very proper Jillian wouldn't approve. "My mother and father were very young," she began. "Out of high school, but just barely. My mother's parents did not like my father at all, and when my mother discovered that she _needed_ to get married, they found a nice soldier for her to marry instead. She had no money and no place to live without them, but my dad had a little money, so they took off."

Jillian smiled, but Elizabeth noted that it didn't reach her eyes. "That's very romantic."

The younger woman laughed. "You can say it, Mrs. Stokes – it was incredibly irresponsible and stupid."

She chuckled a little, and conceded, "It certainly wasn't the best choice to make." She sipped her wine and observed Elizabeth watching Cassie as she pet Ginger's head. "Where are your parents today?"

"Oh – they're no longer living," replied Elizabeth, a well-rehearsed line. She felt Nick's mother deserved a more detailed answer, however, so she added, "They died when I was five."

Jillian worried her brow. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said.

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied, nodding slightly. "After that I was reunited very briefly with my maternal grandmother in Michigan, but she shipped me back here. Then it was St. Paul for three years at Hamline University for pre-law, and another three in Cambridge for law school."

"You went to Harvard?"

Elizabeth nodded, sipping her wine. "I did. If I had to do it over again I would've chosen a school with less focus on corporate law, but Harvard offered me a scholarship."

"As an underprivileged student?" asked Jillian, her eyebrows raised. Nick scowled at her; she scowled back.

"As a gifted student," replied Elizabeth, smiling. "I was a very young law student."

Jillian was impressed, but didn't let on. "And as I understand from Nicholas, you're now a fairly young district attorney."

Nick watched Elizabeth's cheeks actually blush. "Yes, I am," she said proudly. "I've been in office for a little more than two years – nothing to your distinguished career, but it's a start."

Jillian smiled, and so did her son next to her. Well-placed flattery usually went over well. "Well, when it comes time for re-election, you give me a call. We can chat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Stokes," said Elizabeth, smiling. "I appreciate the offer."

Bored with their conversation, Cassie changed the subject. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken and biscuits," replied Elizabeth. "They have about two minutes left in the oven, so why don't you go wash up?"

Cassie jumped down from her stool and ran to the bathroom to wash her hands. Ginger made an attempt to follow, but was foiled by the stern look of her master. Jillian observed this next to her son, and made another silent approval.

Truthfully, she had very little in the way of expectations for any wife of Nick's. After so long, she really hadn't expected him to settle down at all, and this worried her for more than one reason. Part of what kept her own marriage together during difficult times was the fact that Bill was her companion, someone she knew she would always be able to count on for support and love. She worried about her son because of his profession, even before what Audra had always referred to as "the box incident," but as the years passed and there was no one particularly special in his life, she grew more and more concerned that if Nick had no companion he would grow lonely and turn to his work for comfort. Jillian knew her son was an empathetic, kind person, and feared that more focus on Las Vegas' seemly underbelly would turn him cold.

The fact that Nick was adopting a child went a long way to allaying those fears, although they didn't put them completely out of Jillian's head. Having someone to care for, someone to think about other than himself, would keep him grounded. Cassie would be a daily reminder that life was beautiful and was about more than work – particularly the kind of work that Nick did. However, she was a child, not a companion; she would grow up and although she wouldn't disappear completely from Nick's life, she would move on because all children did.

Mostly all she wanted for Nick was someone who really loved him. With Billy she had been forced to settle with someone who _he_ loved, and despite common opinions of Missy, Billy really did adore her. As she watched Miss Elizabeth interact with Cassie and Nick during dinner she understood that at the very least, the woman was fond of both of them. She also liked the fact that Elizabeth engaged Cassie in their conversations and seemed to make it a point to keep her own comments at a level that the little girl could understand without being condescending. She was patient in making explanations when they discussed the upcoming presidential race, and both Elizabeth and Jillian told Cassie a bit of what it was like to run for office. The actual experience was far more stressful than Elizabeth let on, but Jillian suspected that Cassie would experience a political race from the inside soon enough, just as her own children had.

When they were done eating Elizabeth offered coffee in the living room. Jillian and Nick both accepted and Cassie offered her help in the kitchen with Elizabeth's bright coffee set.

As they giggled and joked in the kitchen, Jillian fixed her son with a smirk. "She's very special to you."

"Very," confirmed Nick with a nod, and then asked, as if it mattered, "What do you think?"

"She's a bit more liberal than I'd have her be," replied Jillian, mostly to annoy him. When he rolled his eyes, she patted his knee. "She's lovely, Nicky – and the girl can cook, I'll sure give her that."

Nick agreed with her on both counts. Knowing he didn't have much time until the coffee was ready, he asked cautiously, "So . . . is it safe to say she's someone you'd be proud to know?"

"I'm withholding judgment for the time being," replied Jillian, "but she's got a running start."

Pleased with this answer, Nick sat back on the couch and relaxed. He wouldn't have the exhaustion of a long day's work or the release of making love to Elizabeth to soothe him into slumber, but he knew he'd sleep well that night nonetheless.

* * *

Officially, Nick was on vacation for the first four weeks he had Cassie, although he was still obliged to go to court when he was called. Nick could have had Cassie switch schools – he lived in a different school district than Emily Patterson – but for the amount of the school year that was left, he decided that it wouldn't be worth the interruption to Cassie. He took her to school and picked her up each day, and in between Jillian helped Nick sort through the stacks of resumes of nannies and they began interviewing. She would stay in Las Vegas for as long as it took for Cassie to become comfortable with whoever Nick hired. It was a frustrating prospect – the ones he liked, he couldn't afford, and the ones he could afford, he didn't like.

"It's like shopping for shoes," Elizabeth had commented dryly one evening in an effort to make him smile. It didn't work, but it did remind him that he still owed her a pair of shoes.

The second week was Spring Break for Cassie, but unfortunately Nick was scheduled to testify two of the five days. Since the timing of trials was routinely unpredictable, two days stretched to three and then four. Early on Wednesday evening, when Nick returned home annoyed and tired, he and Jillian made dinner while Cassie read. "How'd it go today?" he asked, chopping an onion.

"Just fine," she reported cheerily. "She's just a little sweetheart. But listen, Nicky, we need to talk about something."

He looked up at her, his eyes twitching with fatigue and onion tears. "What?"

"She's got no clothes," said Jillian plaintively. "I don't think she realizes it, but she's got almost nothing to wear. What she does have that still fits her is in poor shape."

Nick smirked. "You just want to take her shopping."

"That's beside the point. She needs clothes."

He kissed his mother's cheek. "Well, I have to go back to court tomorrow morning, but we could go in the afternoon."

"Oh, I don't mind taking her at all. We could have some girl time."

"I can see where this is going," he began, holding up a hand and turning to her. "Listen, Mom, if you want to take her shopping that's okay, but let me pay for it."

Jillian took on a pleading look. "Nicky, please. Let me buy my granddaughter some clothes. Let me spoil her. I spoiled all of your nieces and nephews, most of them before they were born."

"Mother, you practically bought me this house."

"Do I need to put my foot down, Nicholas?" Her eyebrow was up, a clear indicator that she was immovable on the subject.

He glared at her. "You know I'm too tired to argue with you about this."

She smiled brilliantly. "There's really no need to argue with me at all, Nicky. We'll shop in the morning, and hopefully you can come home for lunch."

"Fine," he replied with a sigh. "I need to go lay down; do you mind?"

She shook her head, pleased with her victory.

He climbed the stairs to search for Cassie, and found her in her room. He leaned on the door frame and smiled. "Hey, princess."

She looked up at him from where she was reading on her bed. "Hi, Nicky," she said. "Is it supper time?"

"No, not yet. What are you up to?"

"Reading. I just started." She held up a hefty book.

He rubbed his eyes. "Harry Potter, huh? I never read those." It occurred to him then that the book was new, and looked at the shelf in her room, which was suspiciously full. "Jillian bought you the whole set, didn't she?"

"When we went to the book store she said to pick out something," she said quickly. "I just picked this one. I don't know how she got the rest of them."

Nick chuckled, walking into the room. He sat down on the bed next to her and patted her back. "It's all right. She's got a way of doing that."

She smiled back at him, noting that he was rubbing his eyes a lot. "Are you gonna go take a nap?"

"Yeah, I need to lay down for a little. I'm sorry about this week, Cassie. Court's a big part of my job and it's kind of unpredictable sometimes. I meant for this week to be just you and me."

She bit her lip. "Well . . . maybe, if you're going to lay down anyway . . . and you never read Harry Potter either . . . maybe I could read to you."

He smiled, already knowing she was well on her way to fixing it so he'd never be able to deny her anything. "Yeah, okay. Let's go downstairs so I can lay down on the couch."

"You got it, Nickelbee," she chirped. He ruffled her hair and followed her down the stairs, flopping down on the couch. As he made himself comfortable, she took up residence on the floor right beside him.

As she began to read he listened for a little while, but his mind soon wandered. He thought back on the day, just over a week ago, that he welcomed his colleagues into his new home to meet Cassie.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*

_It was with some shyness that she greeted Grissom again, but without the giant tarantula and fetal pig she thought he was a little less creepy. Sara was friendly and spoke with her about why she was a vegetarian as Nick grilled a Portobello mushroom cap for her._

"_I never saw a mushroom that big before," Cassie said. "I'm having a chicken leg."_

"_They're delicious," said Sara with a grin. "I trust all these chickens were slaughtered humanely," she'd added with a wry look at Nick._

"_Absolutely," he replied. "You sure you don't want a leg?"_

"_Quite," she said. "But you should give that other mushroom to Cassie and let her try it."_

_Nick curled his lip – he hated mushrooms – but turned to Cassie and offered it to her. She accepted with the excitement of trying something new and grown-up, and when Sara shot Nick a triumphant smirk, he mumbled, "She'll still be eatin' a chicken leg – you just wait and see."_

_Cassie did, in fact, eat a chicken leg – _and_ the mushroom cap – as she chatted happily with Lindsey Willows while her mother and Nick watched them._

"_I never thought I'd see the day, Nicky," Catherine said, a teasing lilt to her voice. "You with a kid."_

*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Remembering this, blinking slowly as Cassie read to him, Nick reached for her dark blonde head and smoothed the hair back gently, smiling when she turned toward him with a grin of her own, and then back to her reading.

*~~*~~*~~*~~*

_Standing by the grill, tongs in hand, Nick simply shook his head at Catherine, and replied, "Me either, Cath – but now . . . I mean, I know it's only been a day, really, but I can't imagine not having her in my life."_

_She hugged him, told him how happy she was for him, and said, "That's how it's supposed to be."_

_To Nick's surprise and pleasure, Warrick had appeared with his wife in tow, and he remembered her sitting with Elizabeth just across the yard from where he and Warrick stood at the grill. Nick wanted to bring up the subject of kids with Warrick, but knew better – he and Tina were fighting more often than not and it occurred to him that he had not seen them address each other at all that day, and that Warrick had rather studiously avoided Catherine._

_Once lunch was over both Grissom and Sara had headed home; Catherine and Lindsey were on their heels. Greg, with whom Cassie had developed an instant rapport because she remembered him from when she was in the hospital, offered to take Cassie down the street to the park while Nick and Elizabeth cleaned up. Warrick volunteered to join them, although Tina opted to go home. Cassie asked for Ginger, and Elizabeth agreed as long as Greg handled her. While they were all waiting on Nick's driveway for Elizabeth to retrieve the dog, a police cruiser came screaming down the street and stopped, lights flashing, in front of the house._

_Captain Brass emerged and came marching up the driveway, as utterly serious as ever. "Cassie McBride?"_

_Nervous, Cassie backed up into Nick. He put his hands on her shoulders and winked down at her, so she looked curiously back at the suit-clad gentleman flashing a badge at her. "Yeah?"_

"_I'm Captain Brass, LVPD. I'd like to ask you a few questions."_

_She looked back up at Nick, taking comfort in his smirk. "What'd I do?" she asked of Brass with a suspicious smirk._

"_We have several witnesses who say you stole this man's heart." He had pointed at Nick, who rolled his eyes at Brass' corniness, but Cassie giggled at him._

"_That's not a crime!"_

"_So you admit it?"_

_She had laughed again and declared, "Yes!"_

_Brass smiled at her then, and put his badge away to extend his right hand. "Cassie, I'm Jim. I work with Nick. It's nice to meet you."_

_She shook his hand and begged to be allowed inside the squad car, which, of course, was Brass' design in bringing it. Elizabeth crossed the yard to watch this scene and passed the dog off to Greg, and he and Warrick headed to the end of the driveway and the flashing car to wait for Cassie._

"_Stole your heart, huh?" said Elizabeth once they were out of earshot. _

_Nick nodded, watching her smile inside the car, sitting next to Brass. "Yeah, she did."_

"_I don't suppose she left any scraps for me?"_

_He turned to look at her with a slight smile. "Lizzy . . . there's so much more than scraps for you."_

_She smiled, pleased, but blushed and looked away. He took her hand and kissed it._

*~~*~~*~~*~~*

Cassie was reading to him about flying motorcycles and tabby cats with glasses as he recalled the look on her face when she had followed him into the house, and more particularly remembered wanting to tell her how he felt. They chatted companionably for a while as they tidied up, and for a moment, since it was just the two of them, he thought he would pull her aside, wrap her in his arms, and whisper the words into her ear. But Brass came into the house then to shake Nick's hand and chat with them a while. By the time he was ready to leave, Greg and Warrick were back with Ginger and Cassie in tow. They had not had an opportunity for a private moment since then, and Nick sorely missed her.

Soon enough Cassie's reading fell silent, and a moment or two later Jillian came into the living room to sit on the window seat and work a crossword puzzle.

"When's supper, Mama?" he asked tiredly.

"'Bout forty-five minutes," she replied absent-mindedly.

"Do y'all mind if I go next door to chat with Elizabeth for a few minutes?"

Jillian smirked and said she wouldn't mind at all, but noticed that Cassie hadn't replied. "Miss Cassie," she said, her Grandmother tone turned up.

Cassie looked up. "Huh?"

"The word 'y'all' is plural, Miss Cassie."

She blushed. "Oh. I'm sorry – what did you ask?"

"I'm goin' over to Elizabeth's for a few minutes," said Nick, who sat up and privately wished his mother would lay off the "miss" business.

"Is it OK if I stay here? I'm in the middle of this chapter."

"Sure, princess," said Nick with a smile. With a kiss on her head, he rose and headed outside.

Elizabeth opened her door with a smile that deepened when she saw that it was only Nick standing there. "Hi," she said, an involuntary sultry tone seeping into her voice. "You're alone."

"Yeah . . . Mom's making dinner and Cassie's reading. I miss you." He grinned back at her.

"Well, come in," she invited, sweeping him into the house with her arm. He kissed her soundly as soon as the door was closed. "I've missed _that_, too," he said, his own voice low, when they parted.

"Me too," she whispered, and then led him by the hand into the living room, where they sat on the couch and Nick folded her comfortably in his arms. "I'm glad you came by all by yourself," she said after a quiet moment. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

Nick tilted his head and looked down at her. "Okay. What is it?"

She nervously cleared her throat, and twisted to face him. "You, uh . . . you're looking for this nanny," she began. "Not having much luck . . . I was thinking that maybe, I could be the nanny. She could just come on over in her pajamas . . . you can tuck her in at night and I can help her get ready for school in the morning. If you really don't want me to that's okay, but your mom can't stay forever, so maybe it's just temporary. But she's comfortable here, and I can even make up a room that looks just like the one Catherine did." She paused a moment to collect her thoughts, but found them swimming again in the dark chocolate pools that were Nick's eyes. "And besides . . . you know that I love Cassie; she's a great kid. I think it could work really well."

With a smile and without hesitation, Nick replied, "Let's give it a shot."

Her eyes lit. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure. It might work really well, and frankly it's better than my other prospects."

Relieved that her proposal had been received so well, Elizabeth chuckled. "Great," she said. "You and Cassie can come over sometime and we'll talk about the whole thing."

He nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. They were facing each other now, Nick resting his back against the arm of the couch and Elizabeth resting her side against the back. He reached out and touched her chin gently, making her meet his eyes. His fingertips slipped slowly along her jaw line toward her ear, and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, too."

She tilted her head in curiosity. "What?"

Nick leaned in and pulled her closer. "I love you, Elizabeth." And he kissed her lips sweetly, pulling back only enough to see the expression in her eyes.

She put her hand on his cheek to pull him back toward her, and returned his kisses in kind. "Nicky," she breathed as their kisses became more passionate, and then Elizabeth was in his lap. She moved her lips from his down to his chin, and from there began to kiss a circle around his face. When she was back at his chin she took his face in both of her hands, and his slipped up her sides. "Nicky, I love you, too."

He let out a half-chuckle and smiled, slightly awed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied breathlessly. "I've been waiting to hear you say that."

"Why?" he asked, stroking her cheek gently with a fingertip.

"I didn't want to freak you out," she said, and he pulled her in for a long, slow kiss.

"I'm not freaked," he mumbled huskily once they parted. "Tell me again."

She whispered it low and right into his ear. "I love you."

With his two hands on her cheeks he pushed her back a little bit. "I love you, too," he replied. They kissed again, and spent the remainder of Nick's away time whispering, giggling, and kissing like a couple of teenagers, which was exactly how Nick felt.

* * *

The following day Nick returned home about half past noon. He was late, as he had arranged to have lunch with Cassie and his mother, but the fact that court had run long couldn't be helped. At least he was finally done for the week, and as he walked upstairs removing his jacket and tie he sighed. Cassie's week off of school meant a day and a half to spend exclusively with her – that was it.

Getting no response from either his mother or Cassie when he called their names, he walked back downstairs in his shirtsleeves to find Jillian watching Cassie and Elizabeth, who were outside on the patio. Elizabeth was sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water, and Cassie was sitting on one of the white deck chairs, which was pushed back from the water.

"What's Elizabeth doing here?" he asked as he joined her at the big sliding glass doors that led to the back yard.

"She's been coming home to eat with Cassie every day," said Jillian quietly, her hand by her mouth. "She makes lunch and then makes it a point to bring it out to the back yard to sit by the pool."

"She knows Cassie's still afraid of water," replied Nick.

"Once they're done with their lunch, your perfect Miss Elizabeth takes off her shoes and sits on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water." She pointed out the window at Cassie, who had moved to stand directly behind Elizabeth with her hands behind her back. "That's the closest she's ever gotten to the water, but I reckon by the end of next week, her little toes will be in that pool, too."

"She goes back to school next week," said Nick.

"But I'm starting to suspect that Miss Elizabeth knows what she's doing," said Jillian. "She'll find another way to encourage her."

Nick smiled. "She will."

"You're a fool if you don't put a ring on her finger, Nicholas." Jillian turned to her son, her eyebrow raised.

Still watching Cassie and Elizabeth, as the older one looked up at the younger one and laughed, he replied, "I'm glad you like her."

Jillian turned to look out the window again. With a sigh, her hand thumped onto her chest, and she patted herself comfortingly. "It would give me so much peace to know that you're settled and loved."

He kissed her head. "I love you, Mama," he said, and turned to join Elizabeth and Cassie outside.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	22. Chapter 22

In early May Nick said goodbye to his mother and tucked her into a hired car headed for the airport. Elizabeth and Cassie stood at his side to kiss, hug, and wave, and when the car drove away Elizabeth and Nick each took one of Cassie's hands and walked with her up the driveway and into the house. Nick had gone back to work much sooner than he originally planned to, since Elizabeth had taken up the post as nanny and the arrangement was working out better than expected.

Cassie had been very open to the idea of staying at Elizabeth 's house when Nick went to work, particularly once she learned that Elizabeth was willing to help her with her hair in the morning. Jillian, having once had five similarly-aged girls in her house at once, took pleasure in occasionally brushing or braiding Cassie's hair, but Elizabeth was far more fun about it. Cassie had a new collection of headbands and barrettes, and Elizabeth could practically French braid Cassie's long tresses blindfolded. Her twelfth birthday was at the end of June, and Elizabeth had already arranged to take Cassie to her salon for a professional haircut, manicure, and pedicure.

As the weeks went on, this closeness caused Nick mixed feelings. He was glad to see the two bonding and growing close, but wondered whether Cassie might start to prefer Elizabeth. They did spend an awful lot of time together; Cassie had even started to earn some money from Elizabeth for caring for Ginger. She was, as Catherine had once put it, a girly girl, and as familiar as he was with idiosyncrasies of girls, having grown up with five of them, he wasn't a girl.

Audra had told him not to worry about it, that it was natural to feel some jealousy and confessed that she felt the same way at times about Sam's relationship with her boys, but this didn't really help Nick, as new to parenting as he was.

To his dismay, these anxieties seemed to be causing a surge in the frequency of his nightmares, and what was worse was the fact that he was remembering them again. They weren't always about being trapped in the box anymore. Sometimes he saw himself walking into the McBrides' home in Pioche to find all four bodies laying in pools of their own blood; sometimes he saw visions of Cassie drowning. Worst of all were the times when he stood in Archie Johnson's lab and stared at Cassie's face on a monitor, green light illuminating her skin, as tears rolled down her cheeks and her little fists banged on the lid of the box.

"Nick, we don't even know who this girl is," Grissom would say, patting his shoulder. "Let day shift handle it; there's nothing you can do." And Nick would try to talk, would try to say that he knew who she was and that they had to find her, but his voice refused to work and Grissom simply drug him away from the monitor and down the hall.

May went by in a blur for Nick; between getting used to their new routine, Cassie's year-end activities, and planning for what she'd do during the summer, he wasn't entirely certain which end was up on some days. By the end of the school year he had managed to fumble his way through choosing a daytime summer program for Cassie. She had also made friends with a neighbor girl named Amanda and occasionally spent the day with her. Amanda had three younger brothers and was ecstatic that a girl her own age had moved into the neighborhood.

As May slipped into June Cassie seemed to be acclimating to the changes very well. He didn't sit in on her sessions with her therapist, but Dr. Schrantz had given him some positive feedback on her progress. She was opening up and communicating more; she talked about what happened in some detail, and Nick was advised that she had been encouraged to open up to him, as well, and that he should keep an open ear. Her nightmares had tapered off and she seemed relatively unencumbered by them.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that the home visit from their new social worker, Kristine Iverson, was approaching fast, and as much as he consciously knew he had nothing to worry about, he kept thinking that it was too soon, he wasn't ready, that some things still needed smoothing out, which of course was untrue.

On Saturday mornings when he was done working, he'd park in his own driveway and creep silently into Elizabeth's house to get Cassie, who was usually up and waiting for him. They would stroll across the lawn hand in hand and let Elizabeth sleep in while they shared breakfast, and then Cassie would read or ask to go over to Amanda's while Nick slept.

It was because of these quiet Saturday mornings that, unbeknownst to Nick, Cassie knew about his own nightmares. He never woke, but when she heard his muffled cries she would head down the hallway or up the stairs to check on him. She brought a fresh glass of water to set on the night stand and stayed with him until he settled back into quiet sleep. Then she would pat his hand and give it a squeeze, and go back to what she had been doing.

About three months after moving in with Nick, she heard yelling coming from his room and went to investigate. When he had nightmares, he was usually restless, but when she saw him thrashing around on the bed, she got scared. His yelling didn't help any.

"Get me out! Get me out of this hole!" It was muffled, but it was clear enough.

She retrieved the water, like she usually did, but when she entered his room again she knew she'd have to wake him up and briefly considered retrieving Elizabeth from next door. She wasn't afraid of him, but he was much bigger than she was and he was asleep, unaware of what he was doing.

She quickly reached out to shake his shoulder; she barely managed to touch him. "Nick."

"Out, out, out!"

She tried again, louder this time. "Nick!"

"Get me out!"

Her little voice was as loud as it got when she barked, "Nicky!" a third time and actually struck him, but to no avail. His mumbled shouts, his tossing head, and his flailing limbs continued.

Before she knew what she was doing, Cassie raised the cool glass off of the end table and tossed the water onto his face.

He sat bolt upright, awake, confused, and soaking wet. The mean, angry look appeared as he turned to look at her. "What the hell, Cassie?"

This was an expression she had never seen directed at herself and she felt it almost as a blow. "I'm sorry," she said, her lip quivering. She was terrified she'd made him mad. "You were . . . you were . . . I'm sorry!" She ran from the room with the glass still in her hand.

"Why the hell would she throw water on me?" he asked himself before moving to get out of bed. That was when he realized that the sheet was tangled around his legs, effectively trapping him.

Cursing himself silently, he got out of the tangled sheets and out of bed. He found Cassie in the kitchen standing at the sink. Drying his face and head with a kitchen towel, he walked up behind her.

"Cassie."

She turned her head and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "How long have you known that I have nightmares?"

"Almost the whole time I've lived here," she whispered.

"You keep bringing me water."

She nodded, but said nothing. Touched by her silent strength, he smoothed her hair back and kissed the top of her head. "Did I scare you just now?"

She wanted to say no, to show Nick she wasn't squeamish, but she couldn't lie to him. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Please don't be sorry, Cassie. I'm sorry I scared you."

She turned to look at him, her eyes round with worry. "You were having a nightmare."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Something bad happened to you."

Again, he nodded, and replied, "Yeah," because now, there was no getting around it.

She silently took his hand and led him to the couch. She settled, facing him, cross-legged, and waited.

He took a deep breath before he began, and once the first words were out of his mouth, the rest just spilled. "You already know there are bad people in the world," he said. "But sometimes, people aren't just bad, they're . . . sick. Mentally ill, I mean.

"There was a young lady . . . Kelly Gordon. Her boyfriend was a drug dealer. She was with him one day and someone was murdered. Kelly was connected to the crime because her DNA was on a Styrofoam cup that she left at the crime scene, and she went to prison. It tore her dad apart. He loved his daughter too much to believe she had done anything wrong . . . like a lot of people do, like Luke did, he blamed other people for his suffering. He wanted to get back at the people he blamed for ruining his daughter's life.

"He built a Plexiglas box. He staged a crime scene and kidnapped me from it, and he put me in the box, which he buried. He wired the box with a fan and a light and a camera so my co-workers, and my parents, could watch me. He left me with a tape recorded message, telling me that no one knew where I was, and that I was going to die in the box.

"A lot of what happened while I was in the box is fuzzy now. I remember the green glow from light sticks that were left for me. I remember a light coming on all the time, and I remember using my gun to put it out. I remember recording a message to my family, although I don't remember what I said. The gunshot cracked the box, and fire ants got in . . . they bit me all over, crawled all over me, everywhere. I don't remember the pain anymore but I remember . . . my gun. . . ." He closed his eyes and physically shivered.

Her eyes wide, Cassie waited until he looked at her again. "Were you going to shoot yourself?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes. I was. But the next thing I knew Warrick was brushing the dirt away from the top of the box, telling me to put my gun down." A tear slid down Nick's cheek; he had never told Dr. Schrantz that. Warrick thought he didn't remember. "Walter Gordon had rigged the box with explosives and pressure switches so that it would explode if I somehow managed to get out, so before I could get out they had to fill the box up with dirt and yank me out of it. I don't remember that part. Grissom says he had to call me Pancho to get me to listen and stay still so they could get me out. I just remember waking up in the hospital and smelling and tasting dirt everywhere.

"People worked hard to find me, Cassie. They did everything they could to find me in time – Warrick, Sara, Grissom, Greg, Catherine, Captain Brass . . . everyone in the lab, everyone in the field. They saved my life and I'll never be able to repay them for that. I worked so hard to find you because I believed you were alive and I believed you had as much right to be saved as I did – more even, because you were only ten. And I wanted to make my time in that box mean something. I thought that if I could find you because of what I went through, then at least something positive would come from it."

"When did that happen?" she whispered.

"May nineteenth," he said, the date etched forever into his memory. "Two thousand five."

Cassie swallowed. "You have post-traumatic stress disorder, too."

"Yeah."

"That's how you knew I might have it."

"Yeah." He swallowed. "When all of that happened to me, my sister Audra helped me get through it. She was honest with me, was there for me . . . she made me do what I needed to do to recover. I wanted to adopt you because I figured I could be that person for you."

She took his hand. "Did you go to therapy with Dr. Schrantz?"

"Yes," he replied. "For six months. When the nightmares were really bad . . . when I couldn't sleep at all. When I was angry, and depressed, and too nervous to work in the field. I used to think my nightmares got worse when I got tough cases, but I don't think that's true anymore."

"Why do you think they get bad for you?"

He met Cassie's eyes. If ever there were a moment to be honest, this was it. "I've never been more afraid in my life than when I was in that box; when I thought I'd die alone . . . that I'd take my own life. I think the nightmares get bad when I'm afraid of something."

"What are you afraid of, Nicky?"

He swallowed and let out a breath. "The social worker is coming tomorrow for the home visit. I think because of what happened with our last social worker, I'm afraid of losing you."

Cassie worried her brow. "Do you think they'll send Mrs. Miller?"

"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "No, Mrs. Iverson is coming. I'm afraid because I don't know what I'm doing. I've never had to take care of anyone but myself and now I'm taking care of an eleven year old . . . only you're at Elizabeth's half the time and that makes me feel guilty." He shook his head. "I don't think anything is going to happen tomorrow, Cassie. I really don't. I'm just a little insecure."

At this word, her face brightened. "Oh – like me," she said. "When I first came here and had nightmares every night."

He chuckled. "Yeah, like that."

"Hang on. I'll be right back."

She ran out of the room, and Nick put his feet up on the couch, resting his head against the back. He used the heels of his hands to wipe the sleep and moisture from his eyes and let out a deep sigh. With everything – absolutely everything – out in the open between them, he felt a huge weight begin to lift from his shoulders. He closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, he could hear the old familiar theme song to The Cisco Kid floating to his ears from the television, and Cassie was crawling into his lap with the blanket his father had brought from Texas. He enveloped the little girl in his arms, the beautiful soul he now thought of as his daughter, and allowed his fear and insecurity to be washed away by the tears of joy he cried into her hair.

* * *

The day of the hearing to finalize Nick's adoption of Cassie began in a bit of a haze. Nick had asked for vacation for the shifts before and after the hearing, and Cassie stayed home from school. Elizabeth had court that day and couldn't go with them, but she crossed the yard in the morning to curl Cassie's hair and help her into the pink suit dress she had insisted upon getting for the occasion, saying she wanted to go to court dressed appropriately, like Elizabeth did. Not much was said by either of them, although they smiled at each other knowingly. The hearing was scheduled to begin at ten o'clock, and they arrived at the courthouse with a good half hour to spare.

Seated in the waiting area, Nick noted that Cassie was particularly fidgety. "You nervous?"

She stilled and looked up at him. "No," she said with a smile. "I was just wondering . . . do you think it's too late to change something?"

He turned to look at her, confusion on his face. "What do you want to change?"

She bit her lower lip. "My name."

"Your name?"

"Yeah. I want to be a Stokes."

Immobilized for a moment, Nick felt an eruption in his chest.

When he said nothing, Cassie explained in a rush. "I've been thinking about it for a long time. When your mom was here we talked about a bunch of stuff about your family. She told me stories about when you were a little boy. When I told her I felt lucky about meeting you because if I didn't, even if I didn't die I'd still be in foster care without a family and I said I felt lucky that you wanted me to be a part of your family. She told me to make sure that you knew how I felt, so I am. I want to really be a part of your family." Cassie reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and pulled out a sheet of folded notebook paper. "I've been practicing writing it."

Nick took the paper from her hand and unfolded it to see every line filled, sometimes in print and sometimes in cursive, with the name she wanted.

Cassandra J. McBride-Stokes

"I think it would be okay to shorten it to just Cassie Stokes for most of the time."

With tears in his eyes, Nick leveled his gaze at Cassie, struggling to control his voice as he said, "You already are a part of my family. My mom wants you to call her Grandma and my dad wants you to call him Grandpa. You haven't met all my sisters and their families, or my brother and his wife, but when you do they're ready to call you their cousin and their niece. That doesn't mean that you have to be called Stokes, but Cassie, if you want to be, I'll be damned if I won't make that happen. I'd be so p-" His voice caught in his throat, and he paused to look down at his hands and swallow, and then look back up into her big blue eyes. "I'd be so proud to give you my name," he finished, his voice a thick, barely-controlled whisper.

Cassie smiled back at him. "Really?"

He nodded and didn't care that a tear or two had leaked from the corners of his eyes. "Really. If this is what you want, Cassie Jane, then it's yours."

They embraced tightly. "Thanks, Nicky," she whispered. "It means a lot."

He smiled at her when they parted, not bothering to dry his cheeks. "I have something else for you to have, too." He reached into the pocket of his own jacket and extracted a small red leather box, placing it in her dainty hands.

She looked up at him. "What is it?"

"Open it, Cassie."

She did. Inside lay a golden circle on a silky chain. On the top of the circle, just to the right of the center, three diamonds were set into the gold. On the bottom and just to the left of the center, two diamonds were set. She turned her big blue eyes up to him, awed. "This is for me?"

Nick nodded. "It's very special," he explained. "It's not for every day, and you need to be careful with it, but it's made just for you. The circle represents life. The diamonds represent each one of your family members. You and me are down here, looking up at Mom, Dad, and Jeremy." He knew it was an extravagant gift to give a twelve year old, but he had always been generous with the people he loved most.

With tears in her eyes, Cassie looked up at him. "Is this overcompensation?"

Despite the somberness of the moment, he laughed. "Yeah, Cassie . . . it is."

She ran her finger over the circle and bit her lip. "It's really beautiful, Nicky," she said. "Will you put it on me?"

Nick took the box and gingerly lifted the necklace out. He rose and turned Cassie around, moving her hair so he could place the pendant beneath her chin and fasten the clasp at the back of her neck. When it was secure, she turned again to face him.

"It's really beautiful," she repeated. "Thanks for not forgetting about my family." Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she took in a shaky breath.

He tilted up her chin and gently wiped the tears away with his big index fingers. "No more tears," he whispered. "Today's not a day to be sad, Cassie. You and me . . . we're not victims anymore. We're survivors. Fighters – that's what we are." She smiled at him, and he smiled back, his features all adoration. He reached out to idly trace the circle at her throat with his middle finger. "They say life is a circle because it keeps on going, like the earth in orbit around the sun. We see the cold, dark side, but the warmth always comes back as the earth turns toward the sun again. I think Jude and Nina and Jeremy are somewhere waiting for you to come back to them . . . proud of how you fought. Happy that you survived."

She touched his fingers on her necklace. "I still miss them."

"Of course you do. You love them."

She took his hand off her necklace and held it between both of hers, squeezing tight as she looked into his eyes. "But I love you, too, Nicky."

His eyes instantly flooded again, but despite the tears, he smiled and wanted to dance. "And I love you, Cassie Jane."

The courtroom door opened, and the bailiff called for him. "Stokes!"

Cassie stood. "That's us!" she declared, holding fast to his hand. Nick chuckled and allowed her to lead him into the courtroom, their tears forgotten.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	23. Chapter 23

Note: This is This is the penultimate chapter to my little story. I thank you so very much for your terrific feedback and support, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

An hour and a half later they pulled into their driveway. Cassie's hand was tucked tightly in Nick's and she was smilingly holding the folder that contained the signed adoption papers. With the exception of some grumbling about paperwork that needed to be changed because of Cassie's name change, the hearing had consisted of precisely what Elizabeth said it would when she talked it over with them that morning, curling Cassie's hair.

"Judge Parker, in all his judgey-ness, will sit in his seat on the bench and make a very pompous show of establishing what the case is, who is in the room, and who he is. Then he'll ask where I am, and you'll say-"

"Where she usually is, your honor. Shoe-shoppin'."

"No," Elizabeth had said with an eyebrow raised at Nick, who had been sitting on Cassie's bed with his tie hanging loosely about his shoulders. "You'll say I'm prosecuting an important case." She focused on a curl for a moment, and then said, "And remember not to call him your honor."

Smiling and winking at Cassie in the mirror, he had replied, "Yes, ma'am," complacently.

"Then he'll make another very pompous show of what amounts to going through your paperwork, asking Mrs. Iverson a couple of questions, and then signing one very important piece of paper."

Nick was remembering this as they walked toward their front door, and was surprised when he heard Elizabeth's voice as she approached. "Hello!" she called, waving a hand. "Do you two have a minute?"

"Hi, Elizabeth!" said Cassie, jumping down from the step. "We just got home from court!"

"What are you doing home at this hour?" asked Nick, coming up behind Cassie and placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Oh – Ginger was acting a little goofy this morning, so I came home to check on her," she replied as smoothly as she could. "How did it go with Judge Parker?"

"He was all smiles," said Nick. "We went over the papers at least three times and he thanked me for my service to our country."

"Well, that was nice of him," said Elizabeth with a chuckle. She then turned to Cassie. "So you're officially my neighbor?"

She smiled. "Yep – we had to get papers signed so I could officially be your neighbor."

"Well, that's fantastic! Why don't you – whoa, hey." Her eyes had been caught by the glittering gold just below Cassie's throat. She gingerly lifted the circle and held it on her fingertips. "Holy buckets, Cassie, where'd you get this bling?"

"Nicky gave it to me this morning," she replied quietly.

Elizabeth eyed Nick. "You sure know how to charm a girl." He smiled back, knowing he'd get an earful about his "little" gift.

"It's very special," said Cassie. "It's my whole family – Mom, Dad, Jeremy, Nick, and me."

"Well, it is special, then," said Elizabeth with a smile, straightening. "So do the two of you have a minute? I have something for you over at my house."

"What for?"

Elizabeth tilted her head. "To help you celebrate, of course," she replied. "It's not every day that wonderful things like this happen. Especially where I work."

Nick smiled and felt his face flush. "Oh, you shouldn't have gotten us anything."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's nothing, Nicky. Why don't you put away your papers and change clothes, and then come on over?"

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, and they disappeared into the house. Cassie didn't want to change out of her pretty pink suit just yet, so Nick ran upstairs to remove his tie and jacket and rolled up his sleeves. She ran ahead of him across the lawn and he heard her rapping on Elizabeth's door.

"Elizabeth asked me to come over," she was explaining to the woman who had answered their neighbor's door as Nick approached. Cassie turned to look at him with a smile, and watched his face practically split in two with a smile of his own.

"Audra!"

His favorite sister smiled and looked from Cassie to him. "Hey, Ninny," she said happily.

Nick followed Cassie inside and was greeted not only by his sister's shining face, but by a scent he knew well. "It's so nice to see you!" he exclaimed as he enveloped his sister in a hug. "You're makin' me brisket," he accused with a smile when they parted.

"Yes – your lovely Miss Elizabeth was kind enough to get it started for me, and now it's in the oven. We thought Cassie should have a traditional Stokes family meal on her first official day as part of the family." She tapped Cassie playfully on the nose as she said this, smiling affectionately down at the girl.

"We?" questioned Nick. "Who's we?"

Elizabeth came into the foyer then. "There you are, Nick!" she greeted. "I found these lovely Texans wandering around the airport and thought I'd have a party for them."

Nick peered down the hallway and into the kitchen, visible from where he was standing. He turned to Audra, even more surprised. "You brought Sam and the kids?" he asked, his eyes lit.

She shook her head. "Sam's in the kitchen, with Mama and Daddy. The kids are stayin' with Sam's sister. Billy's here," she whispered. "With the hussy. I don't think your girlfriend likes either of them."

Elizabeth put on a plastic smile. "They're very nice," she replied. Audra rolled her eyes.

Stunned into silence for a moment at his brother's presence, Nick turned again to Audra and tried to come up with something to say. Then Bill caught sight of his son, and the next thing Nick knew, Bill had his arms wrapped around Cassie as she giggled, and his mother was hugging him. Cassie clung tightly to his hand, a little nervous of so much attention. Jillian ushered them into the living room, where they would have more space.

Billy was waiting for Nick there. "Hey, Nicky," he greeted warmly, and Nick smiled at the genuineness of the salutation.

He let go of Cassie's hand to hug Billy. "I'm glad you're here," he told his brother. "It really means a lot."

When they parted, Billy replied, "Well, you know your mother. She'd 'a strung me up if I didn't come," which was probably true but didn't need to be said. Billy must've realized it, because he quickly continued, "I'm glad to be here with you."

Cassie reclaimed Nick's hand then, drawing his attention. "Hey – Cassie, this is my big brother Billy," he said, gesturing with his free hand. "Billy, this is . . ." He looked down at Cassie, and their eyes met. He had wanted to introduce her as his daughter, but didn't know if she wanted that. "This is Cassie."

Cassie and Billy shook, Billy insisting that Cassie call him Uncle Billy and Cassie noting the similarities between him and her new Grandpa Cisco. She also saw, although Nick would likely never, the ears the two younger men had in common, and the fact that their big chins matched.

"Welcome to the family, Cassie," he said, that same warmth in his voice.

"Thanks," she replied with a smile, starting to relax, when out of nowhere a tall, gangly blonde woman appeared next to Billy, her hair coiffed elaborately around her head.

"Well, you must be Cassie," she said with a smile that showed two rows of too-perfect teeth.

The little girl's grip on Nick's hand tightened, but she nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm your new Auntie Missy," said the woman, leaning down slightly and holding out her perfectly manicured hand.

Cassie tried to take her hand, but all Missy would let her touch was her fingers, and they were cold. She shook them anyway, and politely said, "It's nice to meet you."

Missy squinted a smile at her, her bright white teeth flashing, and then turned her attention to Nick. "Howdy, stranger," she drawled, squeezing his upper arm, and moved just a little too close to his side.

"Nice to see you again, Missy," he replied, his tone neutral because it had to be.

Missy linked her arm through his. Cassie noticed and bristled but didn't know why; across the room, Elizabeth noticed too, but while she was annoyed, she had faith in her man.

"Hey Cassie, why don't you come with me into the kitchen. I'll introduce you to your uncle Sammy." Billy held his hand out. With a smile, Cassie accepted it, and walked into Elizabeth's kitchen with her new uncle.

Missy turned a bit closer to Nick and smiled her artificially bright smile. "I see you caught yourself a lady, Sir Nicholas. She's real sweet."

Doubting this was her real opinion, he returned her smile. "Yeah, Elizabeth's . . . she's great." He turned his head then to try to get a glimpse of her.

She followed his gaze. "Although, you know . . . she does seem a little . . . well, how do I say this . . . rough around the edges? Powerful, smart lady like her . . . I do wonder why she's available, don't you?"

"No," he replied, his dander up. "I surely don't. Just count myself lucky that she is."

Missy twittered. "Oh, always a gentleman, aren't you? But she is a little controlling, don't you think? I mean, maybe all women are, to a certain extent, but your Miss Elizabeth . . . she lacks the . . . _finesse_ of someone more well-bred."

Nick turned the mean, angry look toward her. "More well-bred?" Missy opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. "Melissa, my girlfriend is not a horse."

She smiled sweetly. "Oh, I was just sayin', Nicky . . . no need to get defensive. In any case, it's good to actually see you with a woman." Missy laughed loudly, causing Audra's eyebrow to raise even if she didn't look over. "We were all starting to wonder!"

Nick extracted Missy's arm from his. Clearing his throat with a smile that was as poisonous as hers, he replied, "Yeah, well . . . not everyone can be like Billy and marry the first thing that gives 'em a blowjob." Missy bristled and straightened, and Nick knew he'd hear it later on from his brother. "I need to go visit with Sam; excuse me."

As supper time approached, the Stokeses migrated across the yard to Nick's house, where the remainder of the meal was prepared. Elizabeth and Cassie set the table while Audra gingerly carried her brisket from Elizabeth's oven to Nick's table. Realizing they were both still wearing the clothes they had donned for court that morning, Nick walked with Cassie upstairs before they sat down to eat, in order to change.

Once he had changed into jeans and a more comfortable shirt, he tapped on Cassie's door.

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door to find her arranging her suit on a hanger, already changed into a favorite red sundress. "Hey Cass . . . can I talk to you a minute?"

"Yeah," she replied, moving to hang up the suit. She then stood in front of him, her hands folded. "Do you want me to put the necklace away?"

"No," he replied, smiling. "You leave it on if you want to – today's special."

"Good," she said with a smile.

He gestured toward her bed, indicating that they should sit down. She sat on the bed, he took her desk chair and sat down. "I was just wonderin' . . . would it be okay with you if I called you my daughter?" Her smile faded; he was disappointed, but rushed to reassure her. "It's okay if it's not, Cassie. I mean, I know you already have a dad, and I know you're his daughter."

"It's not that, Nicky," she replied. "I think I would like it if you called me your daughter. I mean, you take care of me, and since we met you've helped me a lot. It's just . . . I don't think I can call you Dad."

Nick smiled comfortingly down at her. "I don't expect you to," he said.

"You don't?"

"No," he replied. "I'm not saying I wouldn't love it if you did, but remember who gave you this." He tapped the golden circle at her throat. "I won't ask you to forget about him because you have me."

This earned him a tight hug, and when she pulled away, it was with an excited expression. "We didn't tell anybody about my name yet!"

Nick realized with some surprise that she was right. "We didn't, did we? Oh, your Grandpa Cisco's gonna love this." _And Billy will hate it_, he thought. _Bonus. _"We'll make an announcement at supper."

"Cool!" she said excitedly, and they walked down the stairs hand in hand.

It felt both odd and perfectly right for Nick to sit at the head of the table in the dining room, which overlooked the back yard and the glistening blue pool. Missy rather presumptuously sat at the opposite end, where Elizabeth had intended to sit so that Jillian could sit next to her son. Elizabeth instead gracefully sat next to Bill and across from Billy, with Missy on her right.

By this time it had become clear that Elizabeth would not be shoe-shopping with Missy anytime soon, so it was with amusement that Audra, sitting across from her husband in order to better flirt with him, watched her little brother's love smile saccharinely at Missy and then calmly sit in the remaining available seat, even if it was in the corner of the table opposite from the one she'd prefer to be on. She even reached for Missy's hand readily when Jillian insisted that they say Grace before they ate. Audra smiled at Elizabeth and then bowed her head while Bill spoke.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for the meal we are about to receive, and for those who have lovingly prepared it. We thank you for the homes you've provided for us, especially this one, Lord, 'cuz it's much cheaper than a hotel." He paused to allow his family to chuckle at his joke, and then continued. "Mostly, Lord, we thank you on this very special day for our newest family member, Miss Cassie, and ask that you bless her and keep watchin' over her as we bring her into the fold of our beloved Stokes family. And lastly, Lord, on behalf of our Cassie, we ask you to keep in your loving care her mom Nina, dad Jude, and brother Jeremy until she sees them again in your heavenly home. Amen."

"Amen," came the chorus of voices around the table. Audra noted some full eyes when heads were raised again. She also noticed, again with pleasure, that her father squeezed Elizabeth's hand and smiled at her before he let go.

"That was beautiful, your honor," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, come now," said Bill as he spread his napkin on his lap. "You call me Bill."

She blushed a little. "Sorry – force of habit."

Just then, Nick called for his father's attention. "Cisco – I have a little announcement to make."

Bill turned his head and waved his hand. "By all means, Pancho. Speak up."

Jillian and Audra both eyed Elizabeth, but didn't catch her eye. She was looking curiously on at Nick, who had turned his attention to Cassie.

"Cassie made a surprising request of me this morning while we were waiting for our hearing. She told me that her new grandma – she never had a grandma before, by the way – told her stories about our family, mostly embarrassing things about me, I'm sure. She said that she was thankful that we met, and grateful that y'all welcome her into our family. And she asked me if she could officially be a Stokes – so y'all are lookin' at Miss Cassandra Jane McBride-Stokes."

"Aw, Cassie," mumbled Elizabeth behind her hand, which she pressed to her mouth the moment Nick mentioned Cassie making a request. She watched as Jillian, ecstatic, rose to hug and kiss the little girl, who blushed and giggled, and accepted hugs from Sam, who was next to her, and clinked tea glasses with Bill, who Elizabeth swore was tearing up. So that's where he gets the waterworks, she thought. Billy smiled and winked at his brother. After clapping her hands lightly together, Missy examined her fingernails.

"Well, hot damn!" exclaimed Audra. "Another proud Stokes. Well, Nicky . . . you did it ass backwards, but you're finally settled down. What would Papa Parker say?" she asked cheekily, referring to Jillian's father.

"He'd say, 'Pass the brisket, woman,'" replied Nick, amused. As Audra picked up the platter she had carried over from Elizabeth's oven, they commenced eating dinner. Elizabeth's end of the table was relatively quiet, with the exception of the comments she was able to exchange with Bill and occasionally Audra, whose attention was arrested mostly by her husband (who, Elizabeth conceded, was very handsome) and also by Cassie, who praised her cooking and said she couldn't wait to come to Texas to meet all of her new cousins.

Once the meal was over the women gathered in the kitchen to clean up. Missy made a showing, but really did nothing except hand her own plate to Elizabeth and get in the way. This didn't help Elizabeth's opinion of Missy.

Once things in the kitchen were under control, Jillian served coffee pecan pie. They all sat around the dining room table again, and Nick noticed that Cassie had become quiet and was staring out of the sliding glass doors at the pool, but he reasoned that she had had a full day and a full belly, so she was probably getting tired. He kept an eye on her as he continued to chat with Sam and Audra.

A few moments later, her pie picked at but largely uneaten, Nick was watching her when a determined look settled over her face, and with pursed lips she slammed her fork down onto the table. She looked up at Nick, whose brow was worried, and then slammed her napkin down, too.

"Cassie, what's wrong?"

She said nothing but rose from the table. Nick and Elizabeth exchanged concerned looks as she headed outside, and Nick stood to watch her better out the sliding glass doors.

Cassie stood on the edge of the pool on the wide, deep end. Nick moved quickly, wanting to comfort her and know what was going through her mind, but was stopped at the door by Elizabeth's gentle voice.

"Nicky, wait."

"Why?"

Watching Cassie intently, she put up her hand. "Just . . . just wait."

The determined look had not disappeared from Cassie's face, and she stood stock-still for a moment in front of the pool, her toes curled over the edge, her hands balled into fists at her sides.

Jillian and Audra rose to flank Nick, almost identical worried looks on their faces. As they all watched, Cassie took two deep breaths and let them out slowly. Then she took a third, closed her eyes, and jumped into the pool.

Elizabeth, who was the only one who was not surprised, smiled as her eyes filled. In contrast, Nick hooted loudly and charged outside to see Cassie's gleaming face as she emerged from the water and hollered, "I did it!" before she jumped in again.

Next to Elizabeth, Missy turned back to her dinner. "She's such a strange child."

Jillian and Audra both heard her, but were used to her snide comments, so weren't surprised. They exchanged annoyed looks and then turned their heads sharply when Elizabeth slammed her fork down onto the table.

Seeking to nip any argument between the two women in the bud, Bill turned to her. "Miss Elizabeth-"

But anything the judge might have said was cut short by Elizabeth slamming her napkin down, just as Cassie had – albeit a little harder, as Elizabeth was more powerful than the slight Cassie and arguably twice as annoyed. Nick's family then watched in utter astonishment as the distinguished district attorney marched out to the pool, removed her shoes, and jumped in next to Cassie.


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's note: ** Well, here it is, ladies and gentlemen - the last chapter. I know I've said this before, but I really do thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart for your feedback. This has been an utter joy to write, knowing that you're entertained by it. Hopefully, this last chapter doesn't leave anything wanting. Enjoy!

* * *

A gentle rain scattered the parched Nevada desert on a quiet Saturday afternoon in October. The weather was unexpected and caught most of the inhabitants of Walnut Street off guard. Cassie had wanted to play catch with Nick and had sulked a while at the window before Elizabeth came over. They made Jillian's brownies and a giant mess in Nick's kitchen while he went stubbornly for a run in the rain.

When he returned they were just finishing their dishes, working companionably together. Dripping wet, he watched them with a smile on his face, knowing that he was a damn lucky man, feeling joy bubble in his heart.

Then Cassie turned around and fixed him with a stern look. "You're getting water all over the floor!"

"Sorry, princess," he replied, moving to leave the kitchen and head upstairs.

"It's your mess!" she hollered after him, an echo of what he commonly told her.

"I'll clean it!" he replied, chuckling.

Once he was in dry clothes he made his way back downstairs again, drying the spot on the floor where he'd dripped, and then made his way through the kitchen, grabbing a brownie as he went. Elizabeth and Cassie were in the living room, the older love of his life reading her novel on the window seat while the younger one sat on the floor, colored pencils, colored paper, and an instruction book surrounding her, making origami birds and flowers.

He sat on the couch, taking a piece of white paper from her stack. He made a paper airplane with it and flew it at Elizabeth's head.

It landed on her book. She was taken aback for a second, and then picked up the plane, rolling her eyes at him. She put down her book and hopped off the window seat for a moment to take one of Cassie's colored pencils. When she reclaimed her seat, she unfolded the plane, wrote something on it, and then threw it back.

He was focused on an origami flower when it hit him directly on the nose. He flared his nostrils in mock indignation before unfolding it to read her note.

_Seriously, Nicholas._

He bugged Cassie for a blue pencil.

_You love me,_ he wrote, and threw the plane back.

She smiled when she read it, and wrote her reply with a quirked eyebrow.

_So what if I do?_

He wrote his reply with Cassie looking on curiously. He exchanged a smirk with her as he tossed the plane back to Elizabeth.

_So admit it._

Feigning boredom, he sighed when he had her reply. _Fine,_ Elizabeth had written. _I do._

The origami flower was finished when the note flew back to his lap. When he saw the last two words she had written, he smiled.

_What are the chances you'd like to repeat that in front of a room full of Texans?_

Cassie didn't understand it, but brought the note to Elizabeth faithfully. To his dismay, she scowled.

_Your family knows I love you, Nick._

He rolled his eyes when he read this and wrote _Seriously, Elizabeth!_ on what was left of the paper before balling it up and throwing it at her head.

"What?" she giggled as she read the note.

He leveled a wry look at her. "Did you bake your brains out, woman?" he asked. He reached into his pocket and extracted something, which he placed amongst the origami flower petals. Rising from the couch, he winked at Cassie and motioned for her to come closer.

Nick knelt in front of her with one knee up and offered her the paper flower. She smiled and took the flower with her thumb and index finger, and was about to put it to her nose to sniff dramatically when she noticed the diamond glinting from between the petals.

Struck dumb for a moment, she realized the meaning of Nick's question. She put her book down and swung her legs off of the window seat to face him. Tears began to spill down her cheeks as she handed the flower back to him. "You want me to say 'I do' in front of a room full of Texans."

He nodded soberly. "Yes."

"You have to ask her the real question, Nicky," said Cassie in a stage whisper. Elizabeth chuckled at her and looked expectantly back at Nick, who tenderly wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

Looking into the green eyes he loved with every bit of his soul, he followed his daughter's instruction. "Will you marry me, Lizzy?"

"Yes!" she replied, without hesitation.

As Cassie squealed and clapped her hands, Elizabeth took Nick's face between her palms and kissed him, and Nick wrapped his arms around her. "I love you, Nicky," she breathed as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"I love you, too," he said, kissing up her neck until he reached her lips, which he showered with pecks. When he broke the kiss, Elizabeth reached out blindly for Cassie, and scooped her up into their group hug.

Joyful tears still rolling down her cheeks, Elizabeth asked Cassie if she had known that Nick was going to propose.

"Yep!" she admitted openly. "I helped Nicky pick out the ring."

Nick extracted the ring from the origami flower then, and took Elizabeth's left hand in his. Reverently he slid the ring on her finger and smiled up at her.

She smiled at it, and then at him. "It's beautiful," she said, her eyes still teary.

"See – I knew she'd like it!" exclaimed Cassie, taking Elizabeth's hand and inspecting the ring once more. "All the other ones looked the same." The ring was made of a thin band of yellow gold flanked by two bands of white gold, which held the sparkling diamond in between.

Nick felt as though his chest would burst as Elizabeth held Cassie close and ran her fingers through the little girl's dark blonde hair affectionately. Even though he had never done so in front of Cassie, when Elizabeth turned her beautiful face up to his again, he kissed her passionately and thoroughly on the lips.

"Oh, gross, you two!" she complained.

Elizabeth pulled away from Nick to laugh at her, and then she pulled her in close. "I love you, Cassie," she said, tearing up again. "I'll be so proud to be part of your family."

Cassie hugged her tight. "I love you, too, Elizabeth," she replied.

"You should call me Lizzy," said Elizabeth, her hand on Cassie's cheek.

She acquiesced readily and they hugged again. Nick kissed both of their cheeks when they parted. "Y'know what I think? This calls for a celebratory brownie, and then we got some phone calls to make."

Elizabeth and Cassie agreed with him, and they spent the remainder of the afternoon, as dreary as it was outside, making cheerful phone calls, sipping milk, and munching brownies.

_

* * *

_

Two Years Later

On a hot morning one early September, once she had sent her seven foster children off to school, Emily Patterson looked out of her living room window to see a familiar black Denali roll up into her driveway. A tall, sunglasses-clad man wearing a vest stepped out, carrying with him a piece of paper. Her heart caught in her throat, just like it always did when she saw him.

She went to the door when he knocked, and answered just as though he were one of the ordinary salespeople who she turned away quite frequently. "Hello, Nick."

"Hey, Emily. Can I come in?"

After hesitating a moment, she nodded. Silently he followed her into the kitchen, and they sat at the table.

"I hear your wife's expecting," she said.

Nick nodded, still amazed with such a blessing. "Yeah . . . twins. That was kind of a surprise." Actually, the whole pregnancy had been a surprise for Nick, since for a long time she was dead-set against trying. "Due in March."

"Congratulations," she offered quietly. "So . . . what can I do for you?"

"I brought you something," he said, looking down at the paper in his hand. "In school, Cassie's learning about 9/11. They're talking about how everyday people saved lives that day. Her English teacher gave an assignment to write an essay during class about an everyday hero that the students know." He looked down at the paper again, and then held it out for Emily to take. "Most of the kids wrote about their moms and dads, a few about police officers and firefighters. She didn't let Cassie read her essay to the class, for obvious reasons, but I thought you should."

Curiously, Emily took the paper, and began to read.

* * *

_An Every-Day Hero  
By Cassie Stokes_

_When I was ten years old, my mom, dad, and brother were murdered. The people who hurt my family tried to hurt me, too. They cut my throat and threw me in a lake and hoped I'd drown. But I swam to shore and I was rescued. When I got to the hospital, everyone wondered where I could go to live, because I didn't have any other family. We lived in a small town and we knew the sheriff. His name was Dennis Brackett. He was a nice man and he said that I could come live with him and his wife._

_It was really hard for me after my family died. I had a lot of nightmares and couldn't sleep. I had a hard time at school, too, because I was always sad and tired. Nobody understood why I was upset because nobody knew how I felt, so my friends stopped talking to me, and that made me even sadder. Then Sheriff Brackett's wife got cancer and he couldn't take care of me anymore. That was when I met Emily Patterson._

_Emily Patterson, or Miss Emily, is a foster mother. That means that she takes care of kids who don't have moms or dads. Sometimes she takes care of kids whose parents are in jail or recovering from a drug addiction, so they only stay with her a little while. For me, though, it was a permanent arrangement._

_I didn't like her very much at first. She seemed very crabby all the time and she had a lot of rules. I found out really quickly that if you broke one of them it turned Miss Emily even crabbier. For example, we went to the grocery store once. We were in the aisle where all the coffee is. My mom owned the coffee shop in Pioche, and when I saw all the coffee I couldn't help smelling all of it. I went to each one of the dispensers and put a few beans in my hand, then put them up to my nose. I looked and looked at all the coffee, the coffee grinder, and the filters. Everything in that aisle reminded me of my mom and I wanted to stay there. I didn't realize how long I had spent there. When Miss Emily realized I was missing, she made the store manager lock up the store and called the police because she couldn't find me right away. When we got home she yelled at me about not staying with the group and I felt so bad that I just went up to my room and cried._

_There were five other kids who lived with us full-time. One of them was named Susan, and she was just like Miss Emily. She was my roommate. I never had to share my room before so it was a big adjustment for me. She was always making fun of me. One time when we fought Miss Emily separated us. I thought she was taking Susan's side because she let Susan stay in our room, but she made me go sit at the kitchen table. When she came downstairs to talk to me I thought she was going to yell. Instead, she asked me to help her make dinner. While I was doing it I thought I was being punished. I realized later that Miss Emily asked me to help because she knew that my dad and I made dinner a lot and she wanted to help me feel a little better. It worked._

_From that day I started noticing the things that Miss Emily did to help us. She stayed crabby and she stayed really strict. But when she did little things, like when she made Susan her favorite dinner on the days she went to her therapist, I knew that it was Miss Emily's way of showing us how much she cared about us. It was different from the way my mom and dad did it. They could just say that they loved us. I think Miss Emily loves her foster kids, and she shows it through her actions rather than her words. I think the day Miss Emily yelled at me for not staying with the group at the grocery store, she was just scared when she couldn't find me._

_I don't live with Miss Emily anymore because I was adopted by the man who rescued me. A lot of people say he is a hero, and I think he is, too. But Emily Patterson an every-day hero because nobody ever tells her that she's a hero but she keeps going. She takes care of kids who don't have anywhere else to go, no matter what. A lot of those kids, like Susan, don't treat Miss Emily very well but she still does the special things for them to help them know that someone cares about them._

_Most people don't even notice the good things that she does, but I love Miss Emily, and she is my every-day hero._

* * *

Emily was crying openly when she finished. She laid the paper down on the table and refused to meet Nick's eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand and sniffled.

"I don't know what your story is, Emily. I have a pretty good idea, but it's just a guess. What I do know is that whatever the reason you chose this line of work, you're amazing at it. I know a lot of the kids you help don't know they're being helped. I know that more often than not the good you do gets un-done when kids go back to dysfunctional homes. But with everything that Cassie was going through when she was put into foster care, if she hadn't been sent to you, she'd be a different kid. She'll always be grateful for you – and so will I."

Emily rose from the table and walked to the sink. Nick followed, a few steps behind.

"I didn't mean to upset you, Emily."

She turned to look at him, and for the first time he could see unmasked emotion in her features – the surprise of his arrival, the incredible gift of joy Cassie's paper had given her, and gratitude for his own remarks, mixed up together with the adoration she rather confusedly felt for him. Then, he saw courage, and the next thing he knew, Emily's head was on his shoulder, her arms around his waist, squeezing tight.

A little stunned, Nick responded in kind, holding Emily close for as long as she'd let him.

She pulled back almost as suddenly as she had approached, and seemed a little embarrassed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Emily," he replied with a smile. He excused himself to leave then, saying he had to get to one of Elizabeth's doctor's appointments. She smiled openly at him and said good-bye. It wouldn't be the last time they saw each other – Cassie and Susan became good friends – but the conversation did close a chapter in the interwoven stories of their lives. The nightmares of the separate tragedies that had led Nick to Cassie faded into forgotten shadow, and the pinkie-swears, fragile wisps of promise to some, bound them together like no vow either would ever make, save one.

Three months later, Emily took in an infant boy abandoned in the emergency room at Desert Palms. He was pallid but dark-eyed and dark-haired, and under five pounds. Although plagued by the drug addiction he had been born with, with Emily's care he became a happy little boy who snuggled her, smiled at her, and made her feel warm inside. She adopted him as her own, and she named him Nicholas, and he grew to be the only man she ever really trusted.

* * *

The End

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson

**_Now, some stuff I want to say, whether anyone's reading it or not._**

A big thank you goes to **LostLadyKnight and CSIGirl24-7**, who initially beta-read for me.

Special thanks go to **Speedy** and **Smokey**, who were fabulous impromptu betas.

And maybe this is a bit odd, but to **George Eads**, who is the heart and soul of Nick Stokes: Thank you for bringing Nick to life every week for us to enjoy. I write because I want to, but I've always considered this story as more or less a gift to the inspiring character that you portray. In case you haven't noticed, a bunch of us think you're fabulous!

And lastly, a note to **TPTB** - first, please don't sue me. I'm not getting anything out of this except warm fuzzies. Second, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job or nothin', but please. _Please._ For the love of Pete. Give Nick a reason not to slit his wrists. **BRING CASSIE BACK!!!!**

Thanks for listening. Thanks more for reading. Those of you who review - you rock.

Jacqui


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